


Some dark undercurrent woe

by FrankieSpitfire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, BAMF Astoria Greengrass, Brief mentions of PTSD, M/M, Male Slash, Not Canon Compliant, Porn With Plot, Romance, Top Harry, political bedroom games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 05:16:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11960484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankieSpitfire/pseuds/FrankieSpitfire
Summary: Harry Potter is not meekly warm and slow and affable; he is demanding and rough and aggressive. He wants and conquers without asking; he is the sort of man that lets everything stream through him and he feels profoundly, feverishly even. He touches with confidence and command; guiding and mastering and wringing out sensation after sensation. Anger drives him and lust ignites him and he treats Lucius like a prize, a willing sacrifice, a whore -- and it is all that Lucius wants; feels compelled to have.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> *uses hands as a megaphone* Hear ye, hear ye! Get your smut right here. Get your smut while it's hot.
> 
> Okay, being serious here -- this is just a short (err...short by my standards) piece of fiction that I'm treating as an exercise in writing things that make me mildly uncomfortable. I think dipping my toes into sex is not what my professor had it mind -- but hey, I'm allowed to improvise. (And yeah, writing more or less explicit sex makes me sweat like a 19th century nun)
> 
> If this doesn't float your boat, tickle your fancy, turn your crank, isn't your cup of tea -- *points to the door* 
> 
> If you flame, I flame back. Hardcore. The ground will be charred.
> 
> FYI - in case anyone want to skip the bedroom fun, chapters 2 & 5 should be read with caution (but you won't, you devious thing)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything. *sheds a tear*

 

**Some dark undercurrent woe**

**Chapter One**

 

Harry Potter really does have the worst of luck. Misfortune has been stalking him for years; it is a solid fact. What might have seemed like a lot of dumb luck at first is nothing more than rotten fortune -- from childhood to the tentative years of teenage rebellion to a life of a young adult. It's nothing more than having been dealt a rather shitty hand in life. It is a series of uncontrollable events that have nothing to do with choice or fated course in life. It's it what it is -- and it's absolute bollocks. Years have not settled him anywhere but mostly kept him afloat like a wrecked ship that refuses to sink.

He keeps his eyes on the black tiled floor as he walks ahead, only barely aware of the nattering to his right.

"-- so I was thinking that if I can get into this meeting with the department heads, I might be able to push my proposal through. Cattlehorn is a toffy-nosed prig, but he understands that the wizarding government cannot simply ostracize a large number of magical being and creatures. We're talking about the Veela Council, werewolves, goblins, merpeople -- they are all a fundamental part of magical society."

Hermione Granger stops walking without saying another word and looks cross. She waves a hand in front of her friend's face and asks, "You haven't heard a single word I've said, have you?"

Harry blinks. "Err...magical society?"

Hermione puffs out air from her nose and shakes her head.

"I'm sorry," Harry sighs and rubs his neck. "I didn't sleep well and I haven't had lunch yet and I had a meeting with Una Crusher."

Hermione snorts. "She's a nightmare. I heard that she hates everyone in the Ministry, so don't take it personally. I think she might even hate everyone in the wizarding community. Or in the world."

"Well, she was assigned to review the complaints made against Aurors, and I can tell you that she's a bloody harpy. She's treating Aurors as criminals, conducting interviews and she has filed at least _eighteen_ search warrants -- which the Wizengamot sanctioned for some strange reason -- to get Pensieve memories _and_ search the Aurors cubicles. Auror Polanski was in tears after she had her interview with that bitch. Polanski has the lowest arrest rate in the department because she feels sorry for the people she should be arresting."

Hermione notes. "Muggles police has an internal affairs investigation unit."

"Davenport calls it _innovation_ , but he's just changing everything to be more Muggle."

Hermione frowns. "While I support good relations with Muggles, I don't think it is necessary to convert magical society into a more Muggle-like environment."

"Everyone thinks that it's over the top, but Davenport is a Muggle-born and he's totally anti-pureblood. You are a Muggle-born witch but you don't want to everything to be Muggle."

"Walter Davenport is an idiot," Hermione replies with a roll of her eyes. "He was made into the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement because the Ministry needed to show itself as Muggle-born friendly. In the recent past, Muggle-borns have not been favoured in an official capacity but the Ministry needs to boost the its image and popularity."

Harry gives a dissatisfied groan. "Well, someone should have checked his background. Did you know that he organised some type of _'death to pure-bloods'_ rally when he was working in the records department?"

"No, I didn't," Hermione says, "but I'm not exactly shocked. Besides, I'm not a big fan of pure-bloods either."

"I don't see you organising a demonstration up and down Diagon Alley, carrying signs that kindly recommend pure-bloods to set themselves on fire."

Hermione's expression changes and she says, "Damn, I forgot that the Department of Education has an assembly today. I really must speak to Parvati about those awful new textbooks. I'll see you later, Harry."

She quickly walks towards the lifts, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Hermione works at the Ministry and she knows everything. Shacklebolt is a decent Minister, somewhat lacking finesse in the diplomacy division, but he's a good man and knows how to keep everyone on the straight and narrow. Harry feels a headache coming on. He doesn't particularly fear for his job, even though some witch is poking her nose into places it definitely doesn't belong. As the Head of the Auror Office, Harry has to deal with the woman on a daily basis, but he considers this _special investigator_ as a barking dog that doesn't bite.

After the war, the tactics that Aurors use have changed; it can't be denied. Aurors handle criminals with a firm hand and sometimes excess force is used. Harry himself is guilty of roughing up suspected criminals, but his past dealings with dark wizards and witches have left him angry, unfulfilled and violent in a way that Harry doesn't want to be. He knows that some of the Aurors in his team have crossed the line between what is necessary and what can be considered illegal. Harry doesn't consider his Aurors corrupted or overly aggressive, but he knows that a number of them had lost loved ones during the war and that sort of loss will never truly fade from one's mind.

Harry's therapist says it is something soldiers go through after coming back home from war, but Harry is sure that he simply hates those who commit crimes against children, creatures or innocent people. He thinks about Fred and Remus and Tonks and Dobby. He thinks about his schoolmates and nameless people in the crowd. It is not hard to work oneself into a violent frenzy like that.

He tries to clear his head. There is a meeting with Davenport that he has to get through. Now, the wizard is a bit officious and unapproachable but not everyone is the type to shake hands with everyone and cuddle kittens. Walter Davenport is in his late thirties and classically handsome. His facial features are perfectly sculpted and not a single hair on his head is ever misplaced; the man's rich chocolate hair is always styled in a way that makes Harry's hair look like something a Troll vomited up on top of his head. Davenport has blue eyes that make all the ladies swoon and a smile that seems almost too perfect with teeth so white that Harry has considered wearing sunglasses whenever he has to be in the man's presence. Sometimes, the wizard wears Muggle t-shirts and those shirts always make his arms look bulged as if he's secretly a bodybuilder. He has a smooth, ideally accented voice that makes him sound so posh that the Queen herself would keel over and someone would definitely roll out a red carpet.

He has made a career out of nothing. Working in the Departments of Records, the man had slowly climbed out of the dark archives and into a cushy office on the upper floors. Harry believes that his direct superior is not stupid; in fact, Harry believes that he is intelligent to the point of being cunning. The man had been a Ravenclaw - that much Harry knows because the office gossip never dies down. Harry knows a great deal about his boss from the chatty Kathy army of secretaries and assistants and trainee Aurors. Davenport is not married, which makes all the women gush and blush. He is entirely polite and charming but also determined. Sometimes Harry thinks that the man is the embodiment of an iron fist in a velvet glove. It doesn't scare him, but without a doubt makes Harry consider his words more carefully.

He has clashed with the man before. The witch digging into the past cases and making the Aurors cry is one such time when Harry had not stayed silent. In the end, Davenport had pushed and pushed, driving Harry into a corner with no allies. Everyone admires Walter Davenport as if he holds the key to paradise. If anyone thinks badly of his status as a Muggle-born, they certainly don't voice it.

Standing behind the man's door with a folder tucked under his arm, Harry knocks. No answer comes and Harry feels a surge of annoyance. If Davenport isn't in his office, Harry has no reason to take part in a meeting for one. However, he is a curious person and since he has not seen the wizard around the Ministry, Harry decides to check just in case. The carved handle of the door smoothly moves down in Harry's hand and the door clicks open. Feeling a bit foolish and irked, Harry pushes the door open and promptly drops the folder. His first reaction is to flush bright red and the next is to grab his wand.

Davenport is in his office after all, but he isn't alone. The man looks like a kid who has his hand stuck in a tin of biscuits when he was specifically told not to eat any before supper. His cheeks are tinted pink, but his eyes are angry. There is a storm in there somewhere. But Harry doesn't care about Walter Davenport. Oh, no -- Harry only focuses on the other person in the room with him.

If anything can be said about Lucius Malfoy then it is this - the wizard must be immortal. Or perhaps he is in the habit of sipping Unicorn blood for a nightcap. Harry isn't any good at complicated mathematics, but he can add a few simple numbers. It is telling him that Malfoy must be a few over fifty by now. The funny thing is that he looks exactly the same as he did ten years ago -- in fact, he looks _better_ than he had ten years ago. He's like one of those marble statues, carved to be perfect and unchangeable.

It pisses Harry off like nothing else in his life ever has. Lucius had suffered minor _inconveniences_ after the war. He had paid reparations and the Ministry had been satisfied with his contributions. Of course, Harry had not been happy, but he had decided to just let it go for the sake of his own mental health.

He has not seen much of the man in recent years, but he has read about his donations to St. Mungo's and the orphanage that had been set up after the war. Harry knows that Malfoy has given a lot of money to the newly founded council that monitors the treatment of creatures. He has even donated to the Remus Lupin Charity for Werewolves. Harry considers it beyond hypocritical. The fact that a Death Eater has once again found his way back to the top of the food chain is something that only fuels Harry's violent outbursts and he really can't blame himself for beating up scum that remind him of past enemies.

Unlike Davenport, Malfoy does not look uncomfortable at all. In fact, he's wearing the smuggest of expressions. It's wily and despicable but so utterly gorgeous that Harry wants to take a knife and cut it off. The man's silver blond hair is loose and the end of it reach down his back. There is a thin braid that runs from the top of his ear all the way down. Harry wants to think that it looks stupid, but even that looks too good, much to Harry's annoyance. Malfoy has a grandson who is around three or four years old, so maybe it's his creation, but Harry really doesn't need to think about that.

Davenport, having found his voice, clears it and says, "Potter, were you raised in a barn? It is only polite to knock before entering."

"Actually, I was raised by Muggles who treated me like a dog and made me sleep in a cupboard. I was never taught how to knock." Harry gives a wry reply. "Oh, and I _did_ knock -- but you must not have heard it."

Harry isn't going to mention what he thinks about Davenport's reasons for not hearing the knock. It doesn't take a degree in any sort of field to understand what Davenport's flushed appearance means. The top button of his shirt is undone and Harry knows that the man is pedantic about such matters. Malfoy looks devious - that is the only word Harry can think up to perfectly capture the man's entire being. Current and otherwise.

"What is it, Potter? I'm incredibly busy at the moment," Walter Davenport snaps, his hands going to his hips.

"You wanted to go over Miss Crusher's latest report. She has made some interesting observations about a number of my Aurors and you wished to discuss those _unflattering_ remarks." Harry picks up the folder and waves it a little to get his point across. He makes a point in _not_ looking at Malfoy's irritatingly attractive form perched on Davenport's desk. "Perhaps we should reschedule. You do seem very _busy_ the moment."

Davenport's mouth drops open a little but he snaps it shut and waves a hand towards the door. "We will discuss Miss Crusher's report some other time." Harry snorts to himself but gives a nod. When he doesn't immediately leave, Davenport barks at him, "Don't you have reports to write, Potter?"

Harry quirks a brow, "Perhaps Mister Malfoy here wants to hand in something dark and illegal for me to write a report on?"

"You are welcome to search my home and my person, Auror Potter."

A full-body shudder runs through Harry as Lucius says those words, thoroughly soaked in something sticky and sweet and oh-so-dangerous. It doesn't make Harry wish to clutch his wand close to him, but it does make him feel something. Perhaps it is his past revisiting or maybe it's nothing but it definitely has Harry paying attention.

 

*****

 

Harry runs into Hermione as he is heading into the dining hall. He ushers the witch towards the table in the back. It's the perfect place for telling Hermione about his boss.

"You look like you're up to something," Hermione comments as she takes a seat and starts stirring her tea.

"I had a meeting with Davenport, but he was entertaining a rather surprising guest when I got there." Harry can't keep himself from smirking. "Walter Davenport, our very own star-studded Muggle-born and hater of all things related to pure-bloods, was having a very private meeting of his own...with Lucius Malfoy."

"No way!" Hermione gasps. "But he hates wizards like Malfoy who have old family money and connections and a _pedigree_."

" _Yes_ way," Harry laughs. "Not only that - Davenport looked totally flushed like I had caught him wearing his grandmother's knickers. I think he was doing it with Malfoy."

Hermione frowns and she plucks her teacup from the saucer and takes a sip. She savours the drink and asks, "Doing what?"

Harry tears a piece of from Hermione's croissant and snorts. "Buggering."

"That's ridiculous, Harry. He hates pure-bloods and never even shakes hands with them, so I really don't think he would touch other body parts belonging to Lucius Malfoy. Besides, Malfoy hates Muggles and Muggle-borns. They wouldn't even live in the same city, let alone sleep together."

"Well, he was sitting on Davenport's desk, looking a tad too relaxed. Davenport looked horrified when I walked in."

"What would those two have to talk about? It makes no sense."

"They weren't talking when I got there, so I have no idea what was being discussed or if there even was any talking involved."

Hermione leans back in her chair and says, "Well, I don't like it. It is bad enough that Lucius Malfoy is once again in the best position to influence politics. Ginny was right, you know -- the public loves a bad boy."

"Is that why she's dating Blaise Zabini?"

"No, Ginny says it is because Blaise is a master in the art of pleasure. He makes her come three times in a row."

Harry chokes on his food and grabs a napkin. He wheezes out, "Do you mind? I don't want to hear about Ginny's wonderful sex-life."

"Because you have no sex-life?" Hermione chuckles. "You know why you and Ginny broke up."

"How could I forget? Ginny wanted more zing in the bedroom and I wanted to fuck men instead. It's pretty simple, Mione."

Hermione states. "You need to find someone for yourself, Harry. Being on your own is not doing you any good."

"I like being on my own. I don't have to worry about a curfew or any neurotic lovers waiting for me at home, ready to throw yet another ruined dinner at me when I get home late in the evening after promising to never miss dinner again. You know how much work I have and it's not easy to fit anyone else into my life."

Hermione nods because she does understand. Her days are long as well and she spends a lot of time away from home.

"Ron is a freak of nature," Harry points out. "He's the perfect housewife and loves every minute of it."

It was true that Hermione's husband is an odd one. Ron is happy to stay at home with their four-year-old daughter Rose and toddler Hugo. Ron loves to cook and clean and is happy to let Hermione work while he gets to deal with their small children.

"Well, you definitely don't need a Ron at home. You need someone exciting."

"Are you saying  Ron is boring or that I'm boring?"

Hermione shrugs. "I'm saying that you need to get out of this funk."

"I'm not in a funk."

"Whatever, Harry." Hermione rolls her eyes and picks up her cup again. As she brings it to her lips, she smirks and says, "I don't think you realise the pot of gold you have just been handed, Harry. Think about it -- Davenport is openly opposing pure-bloods, trying to get our good Minister to pass laws and regulations that go up against pure-blood ideals and traditions, but he's having secret meetings with Lucius Malfoy. I think he does not want this to get around."

"You think I should blackmail my boss?" Harry asks and smiles. "I like the way you think."

Hermione muses out loud. "I'm not saying that you should blackmail him, but I think you should keep your fingers on the pulse. Davenport is up to something, that much is clear."

"I'm going to tell him to call off his bitch. Crusher can shove off with her questionnaires and psychological evaluations. Trust me - Davenport really doesn't want me telling people about his little get-together with Malfoy."

"Be careful, Harry. He can write up a disciplinary about you if you step on his toes."

"I'm not going to do anything about it right this minute. I can be patient when I have to be," Harry says. "I'm having a pint later. You in?"

"No, I can't leave Cattlehorn by himself with the draft of the legislation I've made. He'll shred it the moment I turn my back."

Harry wipes his mouth and hums. "You're only going to miss Ginny gushing over Zabini's horse cock."

Hermione bursts into giggles.

"It's actually not that funny, Mione," Harry groans and explains. "She won't shut up about Zabini this and Zabini that. I do not need to be reminded that I figured out that I fancy men while I was having sex with my girlfriend. Ginny keeps comparing me to Zabini. It's emasculating."

"I guess she isn't over it yet. You know how Ginny is; she isn't the type to forgive and forget."

"That does not give her the right to keep hassling me about it. Maybe that's why I don't want to have an intimate relationship with anyone -- because she keeps telling me how shite I was in bed."

"Then tell her to shut up about it," Hermione suggests. "You are twenty-eight years old. Resolve this like a man."

"Thanks for the advice," Harry bites back with a dry smile.

Hermione gathers her bag and stands. She says, "We're having a little party for Hugo this weekend to celebrate his first birthday. Be there or be prepared to have Papa Ron waving a spatula in your face."

"Should I bring anything?"

Hermione shrugs. "Hugo won't care. He considers spit-bubbles a good way to spend time. You can bring some wine for me and something nice for Rose. She really does miss you terribly."

"If Ginny brings Zabini, I'm going to go and find the first tart in Knockturn Alley and bring him as my date."

"You are so childish, do you know that?"

"I'm childish? Ginny said she'll owl me a few snaps of Zabini's pecker so I wouldn't have to wank off to a mental picture of it. You know, since it is so _big_ and _wonderful_ and bloody _amazing_."

"Fine, you are both children. Now get to work," Hermione tells the wizard as she marches off.

Harry sighs to himself and relaxes into his seat. He brings his laced fingers on top of his head and rests them there, slightly slanting back with the chair balanced on two legs. He spots Davenport approaching, the man's legs taking quick steps as he crosses the mishmash of tables and chairs. He stops right in front of Harry's table and his face is stony. "I would like to have a word, Potter. In my office; be there in five minutes."

"Should I knock?" Harry asks as the man starts to walk away. He receives a cold look that does to take away from the man's mortification. Harry mutters to himself, "Tosser."

 

*****

 

Harry gets to keep his job. Davenport knows that he can't sack Harry Potter without probable cause and he sure as hell won't tell Minister Shacklebolt that he wants to fire Harry because he sort of walked in on him having a private party with Lucius Malfoy. It is simply not happening. So he just tells Harry to mind his own business and to keep his mouth shut. Of course, Harry doesn't have to do anything, but he will for the time being because he has to figure out Davenport's angle first -- or Malfoy's for that matter. He gets a chance to poke his wand into the nest of a deadly snake sooner than he would have wanted but it doesn't matter in the end.

The ride down into the Atrium is uneventful. It gets a lot more interesting when the doors open and in walks Lucius Malfoy. Now, Harry isn't afraid to kick the hornet's nest, but he does know that it has to be done with a certain grace. Lucius is nothing more or nothing less than a Malfoy. He most likely wants nothing more than to snuff the life out of the younger wizard, but then again, it is exactly what Harry wants to do. The ride down is silent but no longer uneventful. Harry can see Malfoy's reflection on the golden doors and he can tell that the man's eyes are on him even though he isn't looking at Harry directly. It is an uncomfortable game that Harry wants to play. They both know that the other is staring, but neither wants to be the first to break it.

The ride is about to end as the bodiless voice says that their next stop will be the Atrium. It's strange but Harry doesn't want it to be over. He doesn't have to touch his pulse to know that it is climbing, almost pounding. His stomach clenches and there is a sort of heaviness in his legs. As the doors open, Harry knows that the game is up, but he hasn't considered Malfoy pushing the stop button that halts the lift and keeps the door closed until the button is pushed again.

They stay in silence for a moment but then Lucius says, "Walter Davenport is a clever little man who has ideas above his station."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Lucius turns around, his expression amused and entirely too scheming. "It means that a wizard with questionable bloodlines should not be allowed to run a magical government, Mister Potter."

Harry isn't surprised that Davenport wants to run for Minister and he certainly isn't surprised that Lucius is _against_ the idea. "And you are telling _me_ this because -- "

"For no other reason than to inform you." Lucius smiles and it isn't a friendly one.

"If you don't want a twat like Davenport to be the next Minister then what sort of business are you conducting with him?" Harry asks. "In such a private setting no less."

Instead of getting angry or acting insulted, Malfoy laughs. The sound makes Harry's gut tighten. The pleasurable tone of the man's laugh is the very reason why Harry's trousers are suddenly incredibly tight as well. Without realising it, Harry backs away because he's afraid -- not of Malfoy, but of his own desires. He wants to jump Malfoy and rough him up, make him lose that smarmy smile and then he wants to fuck him against the golden doors of the lift.

"The truth, Mister Potter, is rather simple -- Walter Davenport is an insignificant cog in a well-oiled machine and right now, I need him to stay where he is because it suits my interests."

"You don't have to tell me what those interests are because I doubt they have changed in a decade."

"You would be surprised how a person's principles can undergo a momentous change when faced with one's failures."

Harry smirks, "That is nothing new for you, right? It must burn you up inside to know that even a decade won't change the fact that you will always be a Death Eater."

"Perhaps," the man says. "Then again, I'm not the one facing charges for battering suspects."

Harry frowns and demands, "What charges?"

"Oh, just a little something I saw on Davenport's desk. A certain report from a Miss Crusher. It seems control is not one of your strengths." Lucius smiles and reaches into his inner pocket. Harry is sure that it is nothing good but grows a bit paler when Lucius hands him a parchment with a written testimony from a wizard who had been arrested while selling stolen goods. "I have seen Aurors getting sacked for less than assault charges, so perhaps you will value this second chance I am offering you."

"Out of the kindness of your heart?" Harry gives an ironic smile. "I don't buy it."

Lucius comments, "This is an olive branch, in a manner of speaking; one that you will take, Mister Potter."

"Why?" Harry questions as he takes the document and stuffs it into his robe pocket.

"Davenport has his uses," Lucius starts, "but he does not have the level of influence in the Ministry as do you and the lovely Mrs Weasley."

"You need a favour, right?" Harry snorts.

"In a way, but this favour does not directly involve me. My daughter-in-law has decided to set up candidacy for the upcoming elections. She has support but not enough and not from those who wish to let Muggle customs and ways flood our society."

Harry understands. He knows of Astoria Malfoy née Greengrass and she is a fiercely intelligent witch. Even Hermione considers her a formidable opponent when trying to push certain legislations to come to pass. Astoria, the same as Hermione, is a fully qualified and trained barrister. Astoria isn't some pencil-pusher or a bureaucrat, but she is a pure-blood and has a set of principles and ideas that might take the magical community back into a time of blood purity. It is not a big leap into a time where crazy dark wizards might start thinking about another utopia.

"Crusher's enthusiasm is commendable," Lucius says, "however, her attention can be easily diverted. _Unofficially_ , you understand."

"You haven't changed a bit, have you?" Harry is genuinely amused.

"Quite the opposite," Lucius says and he seems more serious as he goes on, "The well-being of my family is my _only_ priority. It has not been so in the past, I'm sure you know that, Mister Potter. Consider my offer and perhaps I shall tell Astoria to expect you for tea."

Lucius pushes the button that opens the doors and they are met by several angry looking Ministry workers who all want to go up. Lucius steps out and gives Harry a nod before disappearing from view. Harry doesn't get out and the lift is suddenly overflowing with people. Harry gets off one floor up and stands in the empty corridors. He doesn't know what to think. Yes, he knows that he has been a bit too passionate when interrogating suspects, but he had no idea that Crusher had actual witness testimonies. It is troubling.

Malfoy's offer isn't anything too overwhelming but the situation isn't ideal. Malfoy asks for a finger but will take an arm -- Harry can already see it happening -- but the shocking thing is that he doesn't care. There isn't enough _zing_ in his life as he has been told before. Maybe Malfoy can provide it.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 

It takes Harry close to four days to make up his mind. He's selfish -- he can't let it get out that he has roughed up criminals. He hasn't done anything like that for years, but during the first years of his career, it had happened a few times. He doesn't feel good about it, but he can't change it now. If Malfoy can make it stay hidden, he certainly won't mind it.

He sends an owl to Malfoy, requesting to meet him in a more private place than the Ministry lift, but he doesn't expect to find Lucius behind his door a few hours later. Harry doesn't even want to know how Lucius found him but there he is. When Harry finally gets a decent t-shirt over his head and manages to throw some stuff into the laundry basket, Lucius is already in the sitting room with a drink in hand.

The house-elf is a new one. Kreacher had died a few years back and Harry had tried to find a competent elf to replace him. Now he has a diligent elf that seems happy to serve Malfoy a bloody drink. Lucius is sitting on the sofa as if he owns the piece of furniture. Perhaps even the room itself.

Harry clears his throat and says, "I was actually sort of talking about meeting in some random pub or something."

"Nonsense." Lucius shifts in the seat and goes on, "You have made your choice."

"Yeah," Harry scratches his neck and rubs his arms. He feels exposed in front of Lucius even though it is his home and he should not feel so uncomfortable.

The man pulls out a rather thick folder from his robe and sets it down in his lap. He taps it with his finger and says, "Crusher has been rather busy these few past months. As you can see, I have already paid the tenacious Miss Crusher a visit and she was most accommodating when she handed me this dossier that she has on you and a number of other Aurors in your department. Of course, she does not _remember_ any of it."

"That's real classy, Lucius."

"And most efficient," the blond says with a smile. He doesn't correct Harry for using his name as if the younger wizard was given permission. "Everything is in here and it is yours. All I require is an oath in which you give me your word that you will support Astoria when the time comes."

Harry picks up the folder and he is shocked by the bulk. Lucius really has managed to get everything from Crusher. "All right. I'll make the oath." Harry looks around for his wand and finds it on the bookshelf. He has made oaths before and easily casts the binding spells. Lucius seems content with a standard oath.

Then the wizard stands and Harry's instincts awaken from their dormant state. As Malfoy starts walking closer, Harry struggles to stay where he is. Malfoy might attempt something and Harry is glad he still has his wand. However, no curse comes. As a startling alternative, Lucius grips the waistband of Harry's jeans and pulls him closer. Nimble fingers make quick work of the little button and zipper and before Harry can even begin to comprehend what is happening, Lucius yanks the wizard's t-shirt over his head.

"What are you doing?" Harry manages to get out, both shocked and unbelievably aroused.

Lucius gives him a curious look. "Did you really think I came all this way just to hand you this interesting dossier?"

"What makes you think I'm _interested_ in you?" Harry asks, although he can't deny that he is very much paying attention to the man. Anyone with a pulse would be interested in Lucius Malfoy and Harry is no different in that regard.

Lucius responds to Harry's inquiry by sliding his hand inside Harry's pants, wrapping his fingers around Harry's hardening cock that definitely likes the attention. The older wizard leans in and asks, "Are you going to deny it?"

"Is there a fucking point to it when you literally have me by the balls?" Harry retorts, trying to bite back a desperate moan that's already halfway in his throat. Lucius has him trapped in the most pleasurable of ways. "It's a bit of surprise, to be honest."

Lucius chuckles. He doesn't look anything but amused when he pulls Harry into a kiss by pure magnetism. The younger one gives into it without any sort of fight at all. Malfoy is by no means a timid kisser and Harry willingly opens up to let the blond's tongue in. Harry protests with a slight grumble and almost brings his teeth down in Lucius' tongue when the man swipes his thumb over the head of Harry's prick.

"Where's your bedroom?" Lucius questions after ending the kiss. Harry stares and then stares some more. "Potter, it was an easy enough question."

"Yeah, I heard you just fine, but -- you can't just come here and seduce me and expect me to just go along with it," Harry starts ranting and steps away from Lucius. He feels like an idiot, standing in the middle of the room without his shirt and his cock more or less hanging out. "What do you want from me?"

Lucius unclasps his robe and throws it on the sofa. For a moment, he considers the possibility of Potter's refusal but shrugs it off and says, "Surely, I do not have to spell it out for you, Potter."

"I think you do because I'm having trouble understanding." Harry crosses his arms over his chest and swallows hard as Lucius approaches him again with a greedy look in his silver eyes.

"Your insecurity is endearing." Lucius remarks with a smile that really does nothing to reassure Harry. "It's fairly simple, Potter -- I want you to fuck me."

Harry's head is spinning. He feels excited and apprehensive and guilty for wanting it, but he doesn't have enough graciousness to decline nor can he muster enough altruism to think about anything other than being buried inside Lucius. He doesn't have to turn him down. He doesn't have to consider Hermione's feeling or Ron's feelings. He most certainly won't consider Ginny's feelings. She can have Zabini and stuff it because Lucius is offering up his arse for nothing and Harry isn't going to _think_ about it. He doesn't have to because he already knows that he's going to do it.

"Yeah, okay," Harry says. "Bedroom is upstairs."

 

The bedroom is spacious and takes up the entire west side of the upper floor. Harry never had nice things growing up but he does now. And he has a lot of windows. Living in a cupboard can make a person feel uncomfortable in tight, closed-off spaces. The bed itself is a work of art; colossal in size and luxurious in details. But they are not there to admire the interior design of it. Lucius isn't interested in admiring the wallpaper or the nice-looking bedside tables. Harry can't find a reason to complain as he finds Lucius undressing. It's hasty but still elegant; Lucius isn't the type to leave his clothes in a heap on the floor.

Without knowing, Harry would probably say that Malfoy is in his late thirties. There's definitely a secret to his sustained vitality and exquisiteness but Harry doesn't care to hear it at the moment because Lucius is shoving him on the bed. Pushing his jeans and pants down, Harry yanks them off and chucks them over his shoulder.

The dark-haired wizard sits on the bed as Lucius crawls on top of him, knees astride Harry's thighs and seals his mouth at the juncture of Harry's shoulder and neck. A low sound breaks free from Harry's throat and he fists his hand into the soft hair. The other hand slides to Lucius' hip and stays there for a moment.

Harry feels his cock twitching, hardening once more after temporarily waning during his little tirade. The wizard's heart is racing and he doesn't even know why. He's no virgin and it is nothing new for him, but Lucius is a being from another world -- he's proud and beautiful and he makes Harry's blood boil with anger and arousal. Lucius is bold, pushy even, but it only makes Harry feel a surge of excitement in his gut.

"Fuck, _stop_ \--" Harry gasps. "It's going to be over too soon if you don't stop."

"Can't have that," Lucius chuckles against Harry's neck and pushes Harry on his back. He remains astride the wizard and runs his fingers down from the hollow of Harry's throat to his stomach that ripples with tension under the touch.

Harry drives his hips up as Lucius grinds down on the wizard's groin. "You said something about fucking, Lucius -- are you all mouth and no trousers?"

"I'm inspecting the young buck I have paid for."

"This wasn't exactly part of our deal. You did something for me and I gave you my word in an oath that I will do something for you," Harry tells the man with a raised brow.

"Consider this as an additional benefit," Lucius says and reaches behind. He curls his fingers around Harry's cock and keeps it steady as he sinks down on it with one swift move that has Harry drawing in a sharp breath. It's tight and hot and glorious -- Harry wants to cry. His fingers twist into the sheets and he looks at the wizard sitting on his hard cock. The sight itself is enough to make a religious man out of him -- with his legs straining and hair falling over his shoulder, Lucius rocks back and forth. The wizard's own member is hard and jutting out from an almost transparent patch of neatly trimmed pubic hair with a pearl of pre-come glistening on the head.

Harry thrusts up two or three times and grins when Lucius whimpers and leans forward. He plants his hands on either side of Harry's head, the ends of his hair tickling the wizard's neck. The new position gives Harry the right angle to hit the blond's prostrate with each stab of his cock and it has Lucius _keening_.

Malfoy's skin looks golden in the sunlight, the silver of his eyes glinting like liquid mercury and the intensity in his gaze knocks the air out of Harry's lungs without anyone laying a hand on him. There is this animalistic urge in his bones and Harry grabs Lucius around the middle, digging his fingers into the smooth porcelain flesh and flips Lucius on the bed under him. He pulls out of the pliant body, painting a trail of pre-come on Lucius' thigh as he sits back on his heels and admires his bed partner. Hooking his arms under the man's knees, Harry yanks Lucius closer, slender legs winding around Harry's waist, and the younger wizard smirks and drives himself back inside.

Harry likes to think of himself as hard-working, so he gets to work to earn his reward in the end. He lets Lucius touch him -- eager hands pawing at Harry's sides -- and rolls his hips, burying his cock as deep as it can go.

Harry asks, voice hoarse from the exercise, "Is this what you had in mind when you came here?" He deems it essential to get his question across with a particularly precise and firm thrust that has the other man hissing out an exquisite noise that makes Harry clench his teeth. He doesn't want to finish too quickly and seem like an incompetent lover. Lucius tilts his head up and the look on his face is ravenous. He can't afford to speak because he fears that he might scream. Potter's whole body is shaking with the force of their combined lust and he no longer resembles the boy Lucius had met all those years ago. There is a fierceness about him as he snaps his hips in a steady, almost painful, tempo. He looks angry.

Anger is a straightforward emotion but Potter manages to make it something else entirely. He looks like he wants to grab a pillow and smother the wizard he's fucking -- and he might do it too -- but Lucius hardly cares. He's too hard, too overwrought, too vulnerable for such thoughts. Harry has him trapped in every way and Lucius has not considered being the prey to Harry's predator.

The situation is strange and Lucius does not enjoy being weak -- therefore, the situation needs to change. He needs to be able to control Harry and at the moment, Harry has all the power.

"Did you really think that I'd just let you walk all over me, Lucius?" Harry chuckles and wrings another pitiable moan from the back of the blond's throat when he buries himself to the hilt again. "You came prepared, I'll give you that."

It does make Lucius wonder if perhaps he has miscalculated but oddly enough, he doesn't mind. He laughs. "Perhaps there is more to you than just an idealistic Gryffindor."

"And perhaps I can say the same about you," Harry smirks. "Who knew you'd be such a whore. How many fingers did you stuff up your arse at home? Must have been at least four because you were _soaking_. Wet and hot and open just for me, weren't you? You practically swallowed my cock like a skilled slut."

"Are you complaining?"

Harry shakes his head with a feral grin. He can't find anything to complain about. Lucius is beautiful and impatient, his arse greedily taking Harry's cock deeper as if it is meant to be there. They do seem to fit flawlessly and Harry certainly doesn't feel lacking. He's panting because he's exhausted and because he might just come harder than he ever has -- he can tell by the fervent twist in his gut and strain in his thighs. He might die from it and it would be a great way to go. " _Fuck_ , I can't - how the bloody hell are you so tight!"

That makes Lucius laugh. He enjoys sex, craves it like some people might crave good food. Not only does he _enjoy_ sex - he likes to get fucked. It's an unexpected side of him, he knows that. Right now, he wants Potter to give him the shag of a lifetime and the young man is certainly doing his best to achieve it. Lucius isn't sure how much more he can take without falling apart on Potter's pulsing cock.

"You're gagging for it, aren't you?" Harry snorts to himself and changes tactics. He wants to savour it because he might never get another chance. He slowly pulls out of the wizard's sore opening and grins. "You want me to fuck you properly, right? So get on your hands and knees and I'll fuck you good and proper until you can't even close your legs. You'll want my cock in that hungry hole of yours all the bloody time."

"If that constitutes as pillow talk--" Lucius says as he sits up and slips his arms around Harry's neck. "I'm impressed, Potter. And to think I considered sending an owl instead."

Harry nips at the blond's lips and gives his arse a light slap. "Hands and knees, Lucius."

Giving Harry a lingering kiss, Lucius moves like flowing water. Harry watches him and his throat tightens, almost desiccated.  Lucius is tall and slender, chiselled out of marble and starlight. There is a subtle vanity about him; an ethereal being with eyes like antediluvian ice and skin as flawless as glass. He is striking; the most beautiful being Harry has ever laid eyes upon, but he is unmistakably male. The softness is perfectly balanced with his sharp features. Harry feels a ball of fire in his belly, rapidly gaining momentum and leaking into his legs and moving up into his chest. He forgets how to breathe; his skin tingles, hot all over.

 _Fuck_ , Harry thinks to himself -- it's all totally _fucked_. He wants to run out of the room. He had played Malfoy's game at first but now it's far from an amusing diversion. The game is pretty much over because Harry doesn't want to fuck Malfoy out of his own anger or to later humiliate the man when he kicks him out. He started out wanting to throttle the man - but _now_ he can't imagine letting him walk out the door. Malfoy is winning. Harry not only _wants_ him but Lucius has made Harry _need_ him.

The hot, velvety tightness is begging Harry to fill it and Harry is a weak man in that moment. He pumps his cock a few times, coating his length with the pre-come dripping from the tip, and lines it up. They both groan as he presses on, smoothly gliding inside. Harry slides his hand down Lucius' slick back and slants his own body over the wizard's. He lays kisses on the blond's nape, his shoulders, his back, everywhere he can reach. Lucius must sense the change in Harry and cranes his head, looking into the wizard's vivacious green eyes that are clouded with emotion.

But Harry doesn't dwell on his inner turmoil for long and fixes his hands on the lovely hips of his lover and toys with Lucius, making him work for his own pleasure. "You want to get off, don't you?"

" _Yes_ ," Lucius hisses. His legs are already quivering from the strain of spreading them wide. His knees ache from kneeling and his arse is stinging. Potter has him like a puppet on a string and Lucius really doesn't want to wank himself raw in the wizard's bathroom with an empty, aching hole dripping with the lube he had used earlier and Potter's come. Now _that_ really would be unbecoming of a Malfoy.

"There are other Ministry workers you can manipulate and bully, but you decided to target _me_. Why?" Harry questions, pulling out just enough to keep Lucius aching to be filled. "I'm not going to give you what you want unless you give me what I want, Lucius."

"People listen to you," Lucius replies and it sounds pathetic even to his own ears. He can't think about anything beyond Harry's fingers digging into his hips, his cock thick and snug inside, the tone of his voice - sultry as well as cold. "I know Davenport wants to get rid of you -- that Crusher woman is his way of keeping his hands clean."

"And you are such a kind and noble person that you just had to come to my rescue?"

"I did you a favour," Lucius sneers but it comes out strangled as Harry _rewards_ his attitude with a snap of his hips and propels the blond forward. Lucius rests on his elbows, head placed between his arms. He doesn't want to talk about his motives because he doesn't even _know_ what those motives are at the moment. He had expected Potter to be malleable and eager but instead, the young wizard is completely in command of every little aspect. Potter controls the pleasure Lucius receives as if it is something he must earn from him.

"You know what I think?" Harry leans over Lucius' back; a demon whispering. "I don't believe a single word that passes over those lovely lips of yours. You thought I would just do as I was told like a good boy, didn't you? You thought that you could use me as a means to get what you want. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, Lucius."

"I'm not disappointed." Lucius looks over his shoulder.

Harry hesitates and his movements falter and that does not help at all. Maybe it's something in his face, an emotion left unsaid, but Harry's eyes never leave him. Even when he starts moving again - an aggressive and determined thrust following another -- Harry doesn't look away.

Lucius has to be the one who breaks the moment because it's just too much. There can't be an emotional connection. Sentiment was not supposed to be a part of this transaction. With that disturbing thought, Lucius tenses -- body convulsing and twisting like poetry in motion. He makes the most delicious, illicit sound Harry has ever heard and it kicks him in the stomach like an invisible force. The younger wizard bends over Lucius' back like a blanket, panting heavily as he grinds his cock as deep as he can. He feels his insides twisting and quivering, the back of his thighs burning and pulling with tension -- and then his orgasm snaps loose, like a mad dash of a wild beast. Harry thinks that he might just black out from the sheer pain of it as the tight, silky channel around his cock trembles and constricts, but he remains conscious and utterly drained.

Lucius is in an even worse state. He's teetering on the edge of a blackout, tender and shattered all over. He still feels Harry's hands on his skin and they are as clammy and warm as is the rest of him. Harry's spent cock slips out of him and he knows that he must be completely drenched inside, but that is the least of his worries. He's not shy about such things and he doesn't feel embarrassed about sprawling in a small pool of his own come with Harry's dripping out of him. Potter doesn't seem shy either as he collapses, knees giving out, and curls around the blond's depleted body.

There are important matters in the air that must be discussed but it's not a priority at the present time. Potter's lips are mouthing idle kisses on his shoulder, his fingers gently kneading his scalp and there is a pleasant silence around them. They will have that talk later.

 

*****

                                                                                              

Harry sits on the bed with a pillow tucked under his arm, back straight against the headrest, and watches the man sleeping next to him. He still feels boneless, as if he had battled some type of magical creature with too tough skin and tentacles. He feels it in his arms and legs, in his back and neck, even in his chest -- this throbbing fatigue. It has not yet been two hour since exhausting himself to the point of almost passing out.

Harry had vanished the damp and sticky mess they had made. He had even managed to pull on a pair of loose-fitting pants and found the edge of the sheet which he had then thrown over Lucius to give the man some modesty -- not that Lucius has any need for it. He is as wanton and self-assured as a trained professional, that much Harry knows for certain.

He sits on the bed and tries to think; about the situation he is in and about the motives that had led Lucius Malfoy to his bed. Harry is sure that sex is as good a reason as any, but Lucius never does anything without another purpose hidden in the shadow of the obvious. But there is something even more important than Malfoy's motives - Harry's own reasons for going along with it.

There are a number of possibilities. He is lonely and has needs like any other healthy man. Besides, Malfoy had been persistent and more willing than any of Harry's other one-time shags in the past. Malfoy is helping him keep his job, probably even helping him stay out of Azkaban, and Harry doesn't want to be ungrateful. Then there's the oath. However, Harry does feel that there is something bigger happening that he hasn't figured out yet.

He wants to take a shower, but he feels oddly comfortable where he is. He smells of sweat and sex but more importantly, he smells like Lucius. He doesn't want to wash it off just yet. Lucius stirs and pulls all of Harry's attention away from less pressing matters. He's gloriously bare with just a sheet covering his lower body. There is a satisfied glow on his skin. Harry really wants to know the secret of the man's perfectly preserved vigour and lithe, sculpted body. He wants to touch and stroke and kiss every inch of it.

Harry swallows his surprise when Lucius slithers closer and rests his head on Harry's thigh. Harry is even more surprised when he slides his fingers into the wizard's hair, gently stroking.

"I think we should talk," Harry tells the man, unsure why he feels the need to tear open the pleasant silence. Lucius, awake and contented, hums a response but doesn't speak. He is not the one who wishes to talk. Harry sighs. "What do you really want with me, Lucius? You have secured my compliance, I have made an oath and that's that - but it isn't, right? You want something else, something you think I can give you."

"I merely want you to support Astoria's candidacy."

Harry grips Lucius' hair a bit tighter and grunts. "Cut the crap. As funny as this might sound, but we're pretty much in the same boat now."

Lucius tilts his head up and there is a sliver of displeasure in his gaze, but he doesn't fight it and concedes. Finding a comfy spot again, the wizard puts his head back on Harry's leg and says, "Davenport is not who he pretends to be."

"Yeah, he's a fucking prat, but I already know that," Harry smirks, back to softly rubbing the blond's scalp.

"In his youth, he was a member of a group that protested against pure-blood supremacy; he organised marches and plotted a Muggle-born invasion."

Harry hums. "I know he was a bit of an insurgent years back, but I thought that was just an embarrassing story from his past. He doesn't seem like the type now."

"He has folders on a number of people. Wizards and witches who do not fit into his plans for opening the wizarding world up to new and improved ways of living," Lucius tells Harry, his voice growing colder. "He is the Muggle-born version of Dolores Umbridge who wants nothing more than to exterminate pure-bloods."

Harry's fingers stop moving and he asks, "Are you being serious right now?"

"He has many _special_ investigators, such as Miss Crusher, and it is their task to monitor and gather evidence. Davenport plans to fill Azkaban up to the brim with wizards and witches he considers _too_ pure. He believes that Muggle-borns will inherit the magical community and it is his wish to speed up the process."

"Aside from me -- who else is being targeted?"

"Families that were once part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

With an angry huff, Harry says, "When he wins the election, he'll have the power to make all his plans into a reality."

"That is the reason why Astoria is running as well."

"And that is why you want me to support her -- because she has to win or we'll have another war on our hands."

"I have been working to get close to him for the past year. He believes that I will support him when the time comes and in exchange, he will not send me to Azkaban on some imaginary allegation."

Harry tenses up, mind furiously shifting gears. He doesn't want to know but has to know. "Did you let him fuck you?"

Lucius chuckles. "No, he considers my blood too _dirty_."

"But the other day, in the office --" Harry points out, starting to feel a touch of relief already. He hates the idea of Lucius with anyone else, acting so willing and needy and compliant.

"He is perhaps not as immune to my nasty, pure-blood wiles as he wants to believe." Lucius gives a small laugh. He shakes his head, adding, "I have not offered myself to Davenport."

The words have Harry's stomach fluttering with some unknown emotion. It's possessive, compulsive even, and the need to mark and claim and possess is gripping him all over. Urging Lucius to look at him, Harry asks, "What do you need me to do?"

Lucius does not reply in words and Harry doesn't say anything as Lucius slinks between his legs and slowly starts tugging his pants down his thighs. Harry's cock certainly takes notice and the blond's fingers slip around it as it leaps out, jutting and proud.

Without thinking about it, Harry spreads his legs a little wider to give Lucius more room, and the wizard uses it to his advantage almost immediately, swiping his tongue from the base of Harry's cock right to the sensitive head. It is a bit of a miracle that the younger wizard is hard again after the most thorough shag of his life, but he can't finish the thought before Lucius wraps his lips around the tip and swallows Harry down to the hilt. Harry groans, long and deep -- the mouth around him is perfect, silken and hot and utterly out of this world. He doesn't even dare slide his fingers into the man's hair but he needs to grab something and pull on it in frustration and pleasure. He clutches a handful of the pillow and moans, eyes screwed shut.

After driving Harry close to the edge, Lucius pulls off, running his tongue over his bottom lip. It is tantalising and the sight of him -- eyes burning and lips shiny with spit -- adds to Harry's thirst. He reaches out, rubbing his thumb over Lucius' lip, fingers sneaking behind his head. Harry urges him up and pulls him into a kiss. Lucius lets him in almost right away, mouth opening under Harry's probing, their tongues sliding against one another. Which of them moans is unclear, maybe both of them at the same time, but it doesn't matter. Coaxing the wizard to move up, Harry has Lucius straddle him, but it is different this time -- slower, more attentive and with an intent to savour the act rather than chase the stars in the end. Harry wants to taste, touch and feel everything, so he runs one of his hands down from his lover's neck to the curve of his backside and pulls him closer until their bodies melt together.

Lucius is warm to touch, but shivering from the anticipation and need. He is still stretched from earlier, wet and open for Harry to just push in. It stings and makes his breath hitch, but it fills him completely and unreservedly. Harry _owns_ him.

Potter leisurely thrusts up in an unbearably slow tempo, hitting the right spot each time he goes in but leaving Lucius aching as he pulls out in a lazy beat. Harry's hand traces his spine up and down and Lucius clings to the dark-haired wizard, arms tightly clutched around Harry's shoulders and neck.

Harry doesn't want to be cruel and keeps his hips from snapping up too fast, but Lucius is desperate for more and presses down on Harry's groin, urging him to give him more, give him _everything_. The silent request is clear and Harry tries to satisfy the man in his arms because it seems like something he might want to do for the rest of his life. The thought is jarring and brutally honest.

Harry skims his hands down Lucius' sides and smooths them over the wizard's arse, supporting his weight as he adds to his thrusts and properly plunders in and out. It doesn't take long with the added pace and force -- Harry feels Lucius shuddering and arching in his arms, his mouth falling open around Harry's lips. A guttural moan mingles with Harry's own hoarse cry as the wizard buries himself to the hilt, his balls resting against the blond's arse. Lucius paints Harry's stomach with the pearly-white essence of his release and Harry keeps exploring the blond's mouth with his tongue, swallowing every noise Lucius makes.

As they start coming down from the height of it, Harry nips at Lucius' mouth. He doesn't know what to say. So he doesn't speak at all and lowers Lucius on the bed. Potter's flagging cock is still inside, nestled in the soft heat and wetness of his own seed as he pushes Lucius into the tangled mound of pillows and sheets. He is in no hurry to leave and with their bodies interweaved together, Harry feels like sleeping for a hundred years. Lucius, spent and docile, buries his face into Harry's damp neck and sighs. They are both sated and undeniably heading towards the deep end.

 

*****

 

Harry dreams of naked flesh and sweet lips on his and cold hands driving him wild with need and rage. When he wakes, he feels disoriented and alone -- Lucius is no longer next to him.

The blond is dressed. He sits on the edge of the bed, looking utterly wrecked. He wants to say something but chooses not to. Instead, he gazes away and says, "I will speak with Astoria and tell her about your most gracious offer to side with her during her candidacy. The candidates will need to start their campaign and set up a platform in order to get the needed votes. She will contact you soon."

Harry feels a heaviness in his upper body, perhaps around his very heart, but he can't tell because every part of him aches. Lucius doesn't look at him when he stands and Harry can't get a word out. He knows that it must end now, but he doesn't want to let go. He fears that he will stop breathing once Lucius leaves; fears that he might ache for the rest of his damn life, he fears to yearn and fail and fade on his own. He wants to reach out and grab Lucius by the arm and wrench him right back into bed. They could stay there, touching and feeling and fucking until the world collapses around them and vanishes to blackness. He manages to get out, "Lucius--"

The man looks broken, altogether wretched and angry as he says, "This is how it must be, Harry."

Then he walks out without looking back. He can't look because he will not be able to leave if he does. He knows that Harry understands even though the younger wizard doesn't want to. They can't be anything more than two men with an exciting memory of a few hours of tumultuous passion shared between them. It is just too _much_ and too _fast_ ; without reservations and any sense and it will burn out quickly and leave behind bitter ash. Lucius is selfish -- he doesn't want to ache and hurt, he can't give himself so easily and without guarding his heart. Potter has the power to wreck him, shatter every part of him, and leave him damaged and spoiled. Harry will leave him trembling and bare. Harry will leave _him_. He will _leave_.  It is better to be the one who leaves rather than watch Potter go when it is too late.

Lucius reaches the Apparation point and goes without glancing back. Malfoy Manor looms before him, the high iron gates melting away as he strides towards the house. The gardens look lovely but Lucius can't bear to look at the lush green yew hedges or the green bushes or the green grass. It's green, fucking vibrant _green_ like Harry's blazing, fierce eyes. He wants to lock himself in his bedroom and slide his fingers inside his abused hole and pretend it's Harry who has him so hungry. The elf takes his coat in the parlour, popping away without a word. Astoria is sitting in the drawing room and spots him passing by.

Her voice is clear like clinking crystals as she says, "Lucius, you had me worried. You left to meet with Potter -- and you have been gone for half a day."

Cursing his inability to evade the witch, Lucius tells her, "Potter made an oath, so you need not worry about him. He will support your candidature and help us with Davenport."

"That is reassuring," Astoria hums, a hint of a smile twitching on her lips. "Then again, Potter does not have a choice -- he has much to lose should Davenport be allowed to implement his despicable plans."

"Let us discuss it some other time, my dear," Lucius suggest. "I feel a headache coming on."

"I'll have an elf deliver a pain potion to your room," Astoria gives a worried reply, her brows knitted together in concern as she watches her father-in-law. Her gaze follows Lucius up the staircase and until he vanishes around the corner.

The Malfoys have an unsavoury past -- Astoria knows this well - but she is happy with her husband. Draco is accepting and adoring; Astoria finds no reason to complain. She knows that her husband loves her and he is a good father to their young son. Lucius, however, is a different breed of cat. He has none of Draco's softness when it comes to accepting and following. Lucius is not as agreeable or good-natured or placid as his son, but Draco has not always been that way either.

Astoria considers Lucius as her ally when it comes to matters that involve the protection of their family or financial affairs that concern their vaults. Lucius is still the head of the Malfoy family but Astoria is the heart that keeps the family alive. She is used to counting on Lucius' aid and support because Draco just doesn't have what it takes to lead and hold everything together. Her decision to run against Walter Davenport for the office is not something that came lightly, but the threat hanging over their heads is just too great. Lucius had supported her decision to involve Potter, and in the beginning, they had been doubtful. Now that she has Potter's oath, she feels more secure in her decision to go up against the Muggle-born who wants to destroy their world.

However, it seems to her that something else is now troubling her father-in-law. She cares for Lucius because he's a doting grandfather to Scorpius and a great friend to her, but Astoria knows that the wizard is a complicated person and likes to keep everything inside. This headache is just a convenient excuse, she knows, but Lucius needs time to simmer in it before she can wheedle something out of him.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**Chapter Three**

 

 

It takes seven days, four owls from Hermione and an angry Floo call from said witch to get Harry out of his strop. It feels like he's grieving something that isn't even real. He feels utterly stupid for missing Lucius when he has spent years loathing him. A day in bed together can't change that -- but it _has_ and Harry can't deal with it.

He sits down with a cup of coffee and plain toast and he can't taste any of it. He breathes in and out and hates that he can't smell Lucius. That clean, subtle scent of something sweet; like wildflowers and tea, a hint of vanilla and the cool sea. Harry's pillows had carried that lingering scent but the elf had changed the bed covers the next day, robbing Harry of that addicting scent. The elf had cried for an hour after Harry had shouted at the creature for essentially doing its job.

Hermione's letters had gradually turned into angry demands and that had led to the witch's head in Harry's fireplace, ranting at the wizard for disappearing for a week. Harry had some unused vacation days and he had used them to bury himself somewhere deep and remote. Now the witch is expecting him to show up to her kid's birthday and Harry can't say no.

He tosses the coffee into the sink and heads into the bedroom. He doesn't like the room anymore - not without Lucius in his bed, all naked grace and spun-silk like a halo around him. Harry wants to crawl on top of him and mark that unblemished skin with his teeth as he sinks into the willing, compliant body of the wizard he can't stop obsessing about. It would be funny if it wasn't so damn pathetic and painful to think about.

He pulls on a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt. Hermione's home is connected to the Floo, so Harry steps into his fireplace and lets the flames engulf him. The Granger- Weasley household is a warm and exuberant place. It smells of Ron's cooking and Hermione's parchment and little kids. It's not what Harry is used to.

A little girl runs to meet him, her red hair bouncing in a high ponytail as she comes. Harry likes children; they are uncomplicated and straightforward and they don't treat Harry like his special. They simply don't care whether Harry's a war-hero or just a random grown-up with a stupid looking scar on his forehead.

Rose leads him to the kitchen where Hermione is trying to keep the sauce from burning to the bottom of the pot. She all but shrieks when she sees Harry. "Where the fu- _fudge_ have you been, Harry?"

"At home, having a bloody nap."

"And you couldn't reply to one of _four_ letters that I sent you?" Hermione snap, her foot tapping.

Harry sighs, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Look -- I needed a break. I didn't feel well and I took out some vacation days."

"There's something you're not telling me, Harry. I _know_ you, remember."

"Yeah, there is, but it's not something I want to talk about."

Hermione leaves it alone and sighs. She changes the subject and asks, "Have you heard? Davenport announced his candidacy. He has a lot of support in the Ministry."

Harry's face is set in a deep frown when he says, "I know that he's running for the position, but he can't be allowed to have it."

"A Muggle-born Minister is a notable step forward," Hermione tries to explain. "I know he's a bit of prat but--"

"No, you don't know. You can't even begin to understand what sort of wanker Davenport really is. I found out something about him, something ugly."

Hermione puts the spoon down and crosses her arms over her chest. "What sort of things? Harry, you're not making any sense."

"Okay, I know it might sound really unbelievable, but Davenport isn't who he seems. Remember that group he used to run with, the radical hate group that emerged after the war and wanted to burn pure-bloods at the stake? Well, that group isn't really gone and Davenport still has pretty vile ideas when it comes to purging the magical world of pure-bloods. Crusher had a whole folder on me."

"Harry, have you been drinking? Who told you this?"

"It doesn't matter right now. I know you still keep in touch with Creevey. He's does investigative journalism in the Muggle world, right? So maybe you can talk to him and have him look into Davenport's past."

"All right, I can call him and ask him to look into it, but this all sounds very dodgy. And why can't you tell me who told you this?"

"Because then you will want to check me over for curses."

Hermione pinches the bridge of her nose. "It was Malfoy, wasn't it?"

Harry nods; Hermione is too damn clever and he doesn't see a reason to deny it.

"He gave you this folder Crusher has on you and he told you about Davenport."

"Yes, it was Malfoy. This isn't about keeping Davenport away from the Minister's seat because he's a Muggle-born, but because he plans to purify the magical community of pure blood that he considers wrong. He wants to trample all over our traditions and customs and secrets. He'll start a new war."

"Harry, can you really trust Lucius Malfoy?" Hermione raises her brow.

"No, I can't trust him, but I want to. And I _do_ trust him on this."

"I can understand why he's worried, but what does he want in return. He wants something, right?"

"Astoria Malfoy will run as well and she needs support. Pure-bloods will back her but she will need others. Lucius helped me and all he wants is for me to help Astoria."

"I think you better tell me everything," Hermione says and casts a preservation charm on the simmering sauce and the boiling potatoes. She makes sure Rose is looked after and takes Hugo from the high-chair. The baby babbles and makes grabby motions towards his mother's necklace.

"Where's Ron?"

"He went out to get eggs," Hermione answers. "He's a regular housewife." She takes Harry through into the back and out into the patio. She sits and goes on, "Okay, tell me everything."

And Harry does. He tells her about the lift and about the file and later the folder and what Lucius had said about Davenport's plans. Although he doesn't mention shagging the wizard. Hermione sighs and looks up to the sky. "That's all we need right now -- a crazy Muggle-born revolutionary trying to mess up a perfectly working society. Is that why you stayed home for seven days and moped around?"

Harry nods, thinking it a good excuse. "Needed to wrap my head around it, you know. This is Umbridge all over again. We'll have some pure-blood registry, you'll have to prove that you're not too pure, Azkaban filled with people who haven't done anything. Davenport is as slippery as they come."

"You want me to back Astoria Malfoy?" Hermione is as perceptive as ever.

Harry nods.

"All right, but only if what you just told me is true. I will look into it myself. If I support Astoria, Davenport might make my professional life a bit harder, but I can always say that I support a witch because of equality and a new dawn in the running of the Ministry and so on." Hermione sighs and shifts the baby in her lap. "They have four months for a campaign. It's not a lot of time, but the election is not a timely one since Shacklebolt announced that he is stepping down."

"Maybe we should meet with Astoria and find out what sort of ideas she has. I have to support her even if I don't like her ideas because I made an oath to Malfoy, but it wouldn't hurt to get a clear picture."

"You made an oath? Harry, why would you magically bind yourself like that?" Hermione demands to know, her face set in a glower.

Harry doesn't want to get into it but he knows that Hermione should know the full truth. "Crusher isn't just investigating the Aurors in my division, she is also looking into my past and she had a pretty thick folder on me. I'm not proud of it, but I have used unnecessary force with suspects in the past; to get them to talk or just because I didn't like their faces."

Hermione's expression is full of disappointment. "Oh, Harry --"

"Yeah, I _know_ , Mione. I fucked up and I didn't care at the time because I was always angry and it felt good. I got it out of me pretty soon but Crusher found witnesses and she had testimonies from the people I knocked about and she was going to give it Davenport. I would have lost my job and in all probability ended up in Azkaban because of the assault charges Crusher had against me." Harry explains, suddenly feeling a need to get it out. "Lucius gave me the evidence and reports Crusher had on me and he wanted my oath that I would help Astoria when the time comes. He practically pulled by arse out of the fire because now Davenport doesn't have anything on me."

"He's still a manipulative, wily snake." Hermione points out with a distasteful expression.

"I can't exactly take the moral high ground here, Mione. I abused my position as an Auror because I couldn't shake off the lingering anger and violence from the war and I enjoyed it. I used those suspects as a way to relieve my pent-up rage. I was so angry all the bloody time. I couldn't sleep because I had nightmares about the war, about the people we lost. All those wizards and witches I arrested became Death Eaters in my mind."

"Why didn't you tell us, Harry?"

"Because deep down I felt shame. I knew it was wrong and that I was sick, but I didn't want to drag you and Ron into it because you were happy and starting a family. I didn't want to spoil that," Harry says, looking down. "I went to see a Muggle therapist, told her that I was a soldier and I couldn't shake the war. She said I have a mild form of something called post-traumatic stress disorder and that I have a hard time adjusting to civilian life again. I didn't want to sit on some Healer's sofa and tell them about Voldemort and losing friends and family -- and then read about it in some gossip rag."

"Did seeing this therapist help?"

"It did help some, although she suggested getting another job. I told her that I worked as a police officer. She suggested something that doesn't put me in a stressful situation."

"But you didn't listen to her suggestion, did you?"

"Of course not. I still like being an Auror. I took up kickboxing instead, got all of that anger and anxiety and bad thoughts out of me by beating up people who can take it and who know how to fight back."

Hermione looks almost sad as she says, "You never told us any of this, Harry. I understand that you wanted to keep us away from it, but we could have helped. You know we love you."

Harry leans back in the garden chair. "I'm doing a lot better now. I don't have nightmares keeping me up every night and I haven't slipped up once when dealing with the scum of the wizarding community."

"Is that why you're on your own?" Hermione hedges.

Harry shrugs. "Probably, I don't know. I don't want to thrash around in bed because of my nightmares and scare the shite out of another person who doesn't know anything about the stuff I've been through."

He momentarily thinks about Lucius. The wizard isn't an innocent; he has seen war, felt it and participated in it and he has paid a horrible price for it. Harry's nightmares would most likely reflect the blond's own.

"Harry?"

He shakes his head and pushes down all thoughts that keep spinning around Malfoy. It's done and Harry's isn't a masochist. At least he thinks he's not. He says, "It's hard to find someone who would understand, that's all. I'm a lot better now than I was five years ago, but I still don't think anyone should put themselves through a relationship with a fuck-up like me."

"Don't say that, Harry," Hermione snaps at him. "There's nothing wrong with you. You can't isolate yourself like this and keep everything inside. You need affection and human contact and love - you can't deny yourself like this. You will find someone, I know you will, but you can't shut yourself away or keep these walls around."

Hermione's face is so earnest and fierce and Harry can't help himself - he blurts out. "I slept with Malfoy."

Hermione's mouth falls open. The little toddler in her arms starts giggling at his mother's stupefied expression.

"Harry, you _didn't._ "

"Yeah, I did. Loved every minute of it. Did I plan on it? Of course not, but he showed up and he wanted me and Circe's tits -- I couldn't really decline an offer like that."

Hermione shakes her head. "I can't believe you, Harry. Did you just forget who you were getting in bed with? Lucius Malfoy is a conniving, devious, narrow-minded, purist who used to side with Voldemort and you just -- you _can't_ think with your prick when it comes to a wizard as dishonest and despicable as Malfoy. For Merlin's sake!"

"I didn't forget anything," Harry defends himself. "I know who he is and what he has done, but my moral compass isn't exactly pointing north anymore. I'm not anyone's Golden Boy and I will always feel like a piece of Voldemort is still inside me and that won't change. I'm never going to be the Harry you knew in school because that boy is gone and in his stead stands a damaged wizard who has to live with his anger and grief. Guess what -- I sacrificed myself so everyone else could live untouched by death and pain. This is what is left of me."

He stands and walks out into the garden before Hermione can get a word out. She's not stupid - of course she knows that Harry isn't the same anymore. She and Ron always had each other to lean on after the war, but Harry had no one. It had been his choice to cut himself off.

Harry doesn't visit the Burrow anymore. He doesn't tell his friends about his issues. He is cutting the cords that hold them together as a group of close friends. Hermione can't stop it and that hurts her a great deal, but she knows that Harry has to stand on his own two feet. If that means watching him from a distance -- well, Hermione is ready for it.

 

*****

 

Astoria is observing.

She is an insightful woman and clever enough to see through deception and she has plenty of experience with dissecting distressed Malfoys. It is a subtle shift rather than outright misery plastered all over their faces. Draco is more obvious but only because he really doesn't have the true Malfoy edge to him. Perhaps it is Narcissa's doing -- that Black blood mixed in, which dulls the sharp edge -- but Draco definitely doesn't have it. Now Lucius, on the other hand, is a tough puzzle to crack but Astoria is pretty damn good at cracking open mysteries and looking inside.

Right now, she can tell that Lucius isn't listening at all. She has been telling him about her campaign and Lucius is physically in the room with her, but he's not _there_. He's been acting strange for the past week, ever since his meeting with Potter. Astoria can add just fine and puts the pieces together. Potter must have said or done something or perhaps Lucius had done something and is now regretting it.

Astoria clears her throat and says with a curious smile. "I think we should ask Potter to come to the manor. He will want to know more about my plans for the future. What do you think, Lucius?"

The blond looks up, expression completely ambiguous, but he there is something there as well -- _something_ that is directly linked to Potter. It's a glimmer or maybe it's an unrestrained emotion, but it does clear up the whole picture.

Astoria smirks and questions. "Tell me -- did you end up in Potter's bed before or after he made the oath, hmm?"

Some might protest and deny, some might even laugh it off, but Lucius isn't anything like other, more mundane people. "I didn't coerce the oath out of him if that is what you are asking."

"An oath is an oath," Astoria hums. "It doesn't matter whether he made it with his cock hanging out."

"Must you be so crass?"

"No less crass that you, Lucius," Astoria smiles and laces her fingers together before herself. "You know, I didn't exactly have _this_ in mind when I proposed recruiting Potter." Lucius shifts in his seat, a slight telltale of discomfort, but Astoria catches it and it all clicks into place. "I see."

Lucius isn't really ready to have this conversation. He doesn't even want to have it with his own conscience. Potter has buried himself so deep and it is utterly absurd. He's too old to deal with such nonsense and yet -- he still aches and something in him flutters when he thinks about it.

"Lucius -- are you in love with Potter? " Astoria questions; her words slow, deliberate and dripping with disbelief and wonder.

The sharp look she receives is panicky. " _No_ \-- that's ridiculous!"

It is clear to the witch that Lucius isn't sure -- and Lucius is _always_ sure about things. It makes her heart tremble as well; not because she's happy, but because she feels a tremendous amount of sympathy for the wizard.

"Perhaps it would be best not to invite Potter to the manor."

Lucius doesn't like that either and he says, "You need to do what is best for your election campaign. I will just get out of your way. There is no need for me to be here at all."

Astoria starts laughing and she can't stop. Lucius doesn't find it amusing at all and considers hexing the woman.

"Pardon my outburst," Astoria chuckles, trying to keep a tight control over her giggles that just don't want to be subdued, "but you would let Potter drive you from your own home because you cannot admit to yourself that seeing him again would only confirm what you and I both know already."

"And what is that we both know?"

Astoria raises one perfectly sculpted brow. "Isn't it clear? You desire him and not just physically. You desire him _emotionally_. I have no idea what he did to completely captivate you, but I suspect he is in a similar state. Did you know that Potter decided to use some vacation days, the very next day after _your_ visit, and he hasn't been seen for seven days now? My contact said that Potter just demanded days off via owl. And you, my dear, have been acting particularly odd since meeting with Potter."

"It was _nothing_ ," Lucius gives a clipped reply.

"Then stand by me when Potter comes." Astoria challenges with a pointed look. "If you believe that it really was nothing as you say, you will join this meeting I plan to have with him."

"Fine." Lucius sneers and snaps his eyes back on the parchment he has been pretending to read for an hour. If he has to see Harry again, he will be better prepared for it. Harry couldn't possibly want him -- not when he acts as if nothing happened between them. Harry will loathe him and free Lucius from this torment.

"I will send Potter an owl then," Astoria says with too much glee in her voice.

"If you must," Lucius snipes over the table.

Astoria isn't a fool and she knows that Lucius doesn't want to see Harry Potter ever again because seeing him will vanish away whatever thin hope Lucius still holds that he isn't utterly and irrevocably in love with the young wizard.

 

*****

 

The regal owl screeches like mad as it flies in through Harry's kitchen window and practically tosses the letter in the sink. Then it remains on the ledge of the open window and makes a god-awful racket until Harry gives it some treats. The letter itself is brief and informative, signed by Astoria Malfoy. Just seeing the Malfoy crest at the bottom of the page has Harry's insides twisting into a tight knot. Astoria wants to meet him at the manor for tea and to discuss her candidacy.

The Daily Prophet's heading has been staring Harry in the face all morning. _Astoria Malfoy running for the Office_. _Astoria Malfoy fighting for equality_. _Astoria Malfoy_ _\--_ _first female Minister in twenty years._

Other headlines are mostly about Davenport's candidacy. He would be the first Muggle-born Minister since Nobby Leach. The Muggle-born Minister had left the Ministry after a mysterious illness but some still believe that Abraxas Malfoy had conspired against him. It is rather funny that the man's son is now conspiring to stop yet another Muggle-born from taking office.

Hermione had sent Harry some interesting reading about the Squib Rights marches in the late sixties. Davenport's group had been modelled after those Squib groups that wanted more rights, only his rallies had been more extreme. Pictures of their marches show angry Muggle-borns and their supporters with crude and hostile posters and slogans. Davenport is now seemingly regretful of his past, but there are plenty of those who agree with him and would love nothing more than to teach pure-bloods a lesson.

Harry isn't happy about some pro-pure-blood laws that still exist even after Shacklebolt's attempts to get them chucked in the bin, but he understands the need for balance. Davenport is an extremist, just like some pure-bloods are radicals, but Harry really doesn't like the wizard and would rather see a Malfoy take office than see Walter Davenport sitting in the Minister's chair with his smug smile.

He gets dressed in something other than jeans and a t-shirt and tries not to think about Lucius as he tucks his wand in his pocket and steps out of his townhouse. He knows where the manor is and Disapparates. He is an invited guest, the letter granting him such privileges, and so the wizard can easily bypass the wards. The iron gate curls around him, letting him enter. Harry walks in a daze; he doesn't even realise he's already inside the house after being let in by a dutiful elf. Astoria greets him in the parlour, looking like the perfect Malfoy wife she is. "Mister Potter, welcome to Malfoy Manor."

"I've been here before."

Astoria sighs and inclines her head. "Such things are better left in the past, don't you agree?"

"Yeah, so I've been told." Harry falls into step with Astoria and tries to figure her out. The witch is a bit younger than Harry and he faintly remembers her from school. Her posture is perfect as is her profile. Her nose is straight and the ideal length for a pure-blood nose that good breeding can give a witch. The woman's hair is dark brown, falling around her face in wide waves and her eyes are a darker shade of grey. Her lips are somewhat bow-shaped and painted blood red; it suits her face and the dimples on each cheek. She has a light dusting of freckles on her nose. Everything about her seems proper and calculated, from the knee-length pencil skirt to the sleeveless silk blouse and strapped high heels that seem ridiculously tiring to wear all day.

"Tea has been served in the family sitting room," Astoria commands Harry to follow her and the wizard can't argue. The sitting room is decked out in rich, royal colours - blue and bronze. Harry takes a seat as Astoria motions towards the chair with curved armrests and golden ornaments. She waves a hand over the teapot; it floats up and pours out two cups. "Lucius will join us in a moment. I do hope you have nothing against it?"

Harry swallows and shakes his head. He doesn't trust words at the moment.

"Allow me to tell you a little about what I have in mind for our society and the magical community as a whole."

Harry listens to some of it, but half goes in and comes right out from the other ear; he catches snippets of it. Astoria notices but keeps talking because she has to let it play out or she'll never know. Potter nods when he has to, but his eyes are constantly flicking to the door. Lucius is being an ill-tempered child and sulking -- Astoria is sure of it. When Lucius does show up, he gives Harry a simple nod and stands as far as possible from the younger wizard. Astoria tries to get Lucius to take part in the conversation, but the blond is tight-lipped.

Harry keeps looking at Lucius like he wants to pounce on him and ravage him until the sun goes down, which he actually does want to do. His throat is tight and there is a particular hum in his ears -- he hears the blood rushing around in his body. His palms are beginning to sweat and he doesn't know why. He only knows that he isn't getting enough air in his lungs. Maybe he's cursed or sick, maybe it's all a delusion or a nightmare that doesn't seem to end. Over the past seven days, Harry has considered all of the above, but he has come to one conclusion - he wants Lucius. It's not just a physical need. No, it's more and it's _mind-boggling_. How can he want the wizard, fully knowing what he has done and who he really is? He catches himself thinking about Lucius every other minute and it's making it hard for him -- and it's making _him_ hard.

Even now, he feels his heart thrashing inside his chest like a restless bird. He doesn't care about Astoria's ideas for the wizarding world and wants to shut her out completely. His thoughts are squeezed through a narrow tube and all that remains is the wizard standing just a few steps away -- the same tormenting whiff of that delicate scent on Harry's pillows, the way he tries to shield himself from Harry's gaze, the not-too-subtle way he keeps glancing at Harry when he thinks the wizard isn't looking. It's all there, keeping Harry on the edge of his seat.

Astoria clears her throat and says, "Silly me, I forgot the most important proposals in the study. I shall be right back."

"Send an elf," Lucius tells her with, eyes brimming with dread.

"No, I can get it myself." Astoria stands with a smile and walks out of the room, heels clicking against the smooth floor. She hides her smirk as she steps into the corridor without looking back.

Standing by the window, Lucius moves just a fraction; tension flooding every limb. He isn't keen on filling the silence but he can't keep his eyes away from Harry. The young wizard is clutching at the armrests, knuckles white from the pressure, and he looks close to springing up from his seat like a coil.

"I spoke to Hermione Granger -- she's willing to back Astoria as well _if_ she can be completely certain that Davenport is the sort of twat you say he is. She's already looking into it."

"That's good to hear," Lucius replies curtly, smoothing the sleeve of his robe in an attempt to pacify his nerves. It is absurd that he's so flustered in Harry's presence. Like some school-girl in front of her crush. It's fucking _outrageous_.

Harry's breathing deepens and he rubs his neck. He's practically itching all over. He can't stand it -- he feels like he has to move or he'll collapse under the strain of keeping himself in check. As he gets up, Lucius visibly reacts. He breathes in more sharply than before and Harry can see the muscles in his throat constrict as he swallows. He seems almost fearful of Harry, of what he's about to do or say -- and in that moment, Harry knows that Lucius wants him too.

Maybe that gives Harry courage, but he moves without thinking about it and goes to stand by the window. He moves roughly and has Lucius caged between the strip of wall between two windows and his own body. He brings his arms against the wall and keeps Lucius in place and surprisingly enough, Lucius doesn't fight him.

"I don't know what this is or what the fuck you did to me, but I can't sit here and make idle conversation," Harry growls out, shifting on his feet and pressing his thigh between Lucius' legs, "acting as if I don't image you bent over this sofa, greedy hole pulling my cock in deeper until you can feel it in the back of your throat."

"This is hardly the time --"

Harry purrs into the blond's ear, "Do you really care, Lucius? Or do you want me to spread you open, right now when you're so hard for me?"

Lucius knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Astoria is going to walk in and find them like this or perhaps in a state much worse, but he wants it. Wants it more than anything. He lets Harry plunder his mouth, the wizard's tongue sliding against his own; Harry's teeth nipping at his lower lip and then licking it to soothe the abused flesh. Harry's hands wander underneath the crisp white shirt Lucius has on, quick fingers tugging it free from his trousers and moving over heated skin. The other hand slips easily into silvery hair.

It seems almost impossible but Harry thinks that Lucius fears his touch. He's shivering like a lamb that stands before a beast with teeth and claws. He shudders and his eyes flicker shut for a moment as Harry pulls away just a fraction. The young wizard can practically see the pulse fluttering in Lucius' throat and Harry looks at him, properly and without lust blurring his vision. He is otherworldly and graceful, every part of him carved from the purest of crystal quartz  -- the wizard is intoxicating like fine wine. Harry wants to drown in him.

"Tell me you want me," Harry commands the wizard, the hand that had explored the soft skin now slipping down Lucius' back and into his pants. "Tell me you _need_ me, Lucius."

Voice barely over a whisper, Lucius breathes out. " _Yes_."

Harry hums with approval. "Do you want my fingers stretching you open or are you eager for my cock already?"

Lucius makes a noise that can be classified as a needy mewl but Harry finds it incredibly sexy and wants to draw more out of the man. He's a whore for Harry and it makes the younger wizard heady with sharp, searing need. He's lightheaded, throbbing cock pressing against his trousers and begging to be let out. His arm wraps around the blond and Harry steers the man towards the settee. The blond's mouth parts, tongue flickering out to wet his lips. His body is slack with pleasure as Harry pulls him closer and locks his fingers around his wrists, seizing them behind the wizard's back and holding him in place. Harry tells Lucius, "Strip."

"We're not exactly alone in here." Lucius gasps, lightly struggling against Harry's grip.

"I guess it would be rude of us to disappear," Harry says with a quirk of his lips. He slots his leg between Lucius' spread thighs and smirks as Lucius pushes into the leg pressing against his trapped erection. "Astoria won't mind."

"Actually, she will mind a great deal," Astoria says, standing the doorway with one hand on her hip. She isn't shocked but perhaps she can admit to some surprise. "I still have to tell you what I have in mind for the advancement of education."

Harry releases Lucius' wrists and steps back. The blond's face is set in a frustrated scowl but he palms his clothes and sidesteps Harry. He stays for a fleeting moment before leaving the room altogether. Harry's eyes follow him out and he doesn't like it one bit -- the unfinished business between them is left dangling above their heads or in this case, Harry's head.

Astoria clasps her hands together and smiles. "Perhaps I shall tell you another time."

"Look, I'm sorry for -- I mean, I do care about your ideas, but right now I really don't want to sit here and pretend that I've heard a word you've said."

"I understand, Potter." Astoria nods. As Harry goes past her, she clears her throat and smiles. "Up the stairs, take a left and it's the second door with a golden doorknob."

"Err... thanks," Harry mumbles, feeling sort of awkward and oddly grateful.

"Oh, one more thing, "Astoria turns to Harry, her smile turning sharper. It can make the floor ice over if she so chooses. "Lucius is my family now and I consider him as a dear friend. I think you are a smart man, Potter, and I think that I do _not_ have to tell you what will happen to you should you hurt him."

Harry doesn't even know how to reply and just nods. He has no doubt that Astoria will skin him and make a rug out of him or maybe even make him into a lovely looking stuffed statue to grace the halls of Malfoy Manor.

 

*****

 

As he slams his bedroom door shut behind him, Lucius can't decide if he wants to tear off every item of clothing he has on or abstain and suffer the effects of severe case of Potter withdrawal. He either gives in or attempts to purge his mind and body of the young wizard. He gets the robe off and tosses it on the nearby chair, considering a cold shower. Lucius doesn't get a chance to do anything as Harry comes barging in; slamming the door just as Lucius had done.

The younger wizard stalks closer like a large cat preying on a rabbit somewhere in the undergrowth of a forest. He doesn't attack outright but he does slip one arm around Lucius' lithe form and the other behind his head to hold him in place as Harry sneaks his tongue inside with little effort. No addict would turn away another fix and Lucius is wired no differently. He lets Harry in, the younger wizard taking and pillaging, touching all the right places.

But despite the blinding need, Lucius pushes Harry away, keeping him at a safe distance. "This isn't -- we _can't_."

"You say _that_ , and yet here we are again." Harry snaps.

Lucius knows that Harry is right. He turns away, hoping that the wizard will not see through his lie. "It is nothing, Potter. It was a way to attain what I needed."

"Bullshit," Harry snorts. "I've been sitting at home for days, trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me because I can't possibly want you so _badly_ that I can't sleep, can't forget your scent or how you taste or feel. I can't stop thinking about that one perfect day with you in my bed, and it's insane and wrong, but I think I might never breathe properly again unless you tell me that I haven't finally lost my mind."

Lucius deflates, all that poise rushing out of him; his shoulders sag and he almost trembles. He's an excellent liar, but he can't lie to himself or Harry. "You haven't."

Harry moves soundlessly, standing behind Lucius. He's just a tiny bit shorter than the older wizard, but it doesn't matter in the least. Harry presses his body against Lucius and says, "Say that again."

Lucius is aware of the arms wrapping around him but instead of feeling trapped, he feels protected. Potter isn't some noble hero, swooping in with his sword on his hip, saving Lucius from something horrible. He's the one pushing Lucius towards the edge, the black void of imperfection and sentiment. Perhaps those two are the same thing. The really strange part is that he isn't fighting that which he fears so much -- feeling something, _anything_.  He has stayed emotionally untouched for years, as long as he can remember, and now this wizard -- a man half his age -- is dismantling his very being and building it up as he sees fit, as he wishes Lucius to be.

"I don't know you. I quite possibly loathe you," Harry whispers, "but I think I might be falling in love with you."

"You shouldn't. You'll regret it."

Harry chuckles. "I might, but then again, I might regret never giving this a chance. I might regret letting you go even more." The younger wizard moves Lucius around in his arms without any sort of opposition from the blond wizard. He doesn't look at Harry until the wizard makes him, slipping his fingers over Lucius' cheek. "I'm a big boy, Lucius -- I can handle it if you don't want me."

"I want you too much," Lucius tells him with a poignant smile. "I wish I could tell you to go."

"It doesn't have to be like this, Lucius. We don't have to leave it alone and pretend that it's nothing, that we can forget all about it." Harry says. "I don't want to. I know you don't want that either."

Lucius shakes his head, not truly trusting himself to speak. Harry is like a compelling force that has him breathless and despoiled and he wants it. The mouth that has left searing kisses on his flushed skin is teasing his lips once more, pulling him in and binding him. He has been plagued by vivid memories of touch and green eyes teeming with offence and longing and some dark emotion unseen. And now those hands map his proud form, soothing and arousing all the same.

"I have done a lot of unreasonable, foolish things in my life. Mostly because I had no other choice or because it was expected of me." Harry drags himself away enough to speak without ravaging Lucius with his mouth again. "I want you because it is my choice and maybe I'm selfish and irrational but I think it's high time I did something for myself. I really should indulge a bit more often."

It is true that he has not often pampered himself and everyone needs a bit of spoiling once in a while.

"I don't want to be an indulgence, Harry," Lucius tells the younger wizard, looking at him with swelling anger. "I will not let you treat me as some extravagance you amuse yourself with. If that is what you want --"

"No, that's not true," Harry defends himself but there is a troublesome thought forming in the back of his mind that makes him experience doubt. He gets angry at himself and says to the blond, "I'm not using you, Lucius. I might not know for sure -- fuck, I know what I want. I told you that I'm possibly falling _in love_ with you."

"No, you're in love with the _idea_ of me," Lucius retorts, taking a few steps back so that he would not be so close to the younger man. "Once it burns out, you will see it for what it is -- infatuation, excitement, a reckoning."

Harry feels a squall of emotions surfacing. "Fuck you, Lucius. That's _not_ true."

"I'm not prepared to find out whether it is the truth or not. I can't give you what you want and then put myself back together again after you leave. I will not risk everything for someone who isn't certain."

Harry experiences a sense of watching everything through a window as if he isn't in the room or inside his own body. He caves in on himself because he's not sure, he doesn't know what he is feeling. Lust, love, desire, need, anger, loathing -- it is all so tightly wrapped together that he can't tell them apart. He looks at Lucius and he feels everything as a single emotion. He can't differentiate between pure emotions and ones tainted by the past, his detestation and some type of dark, polluted desire that wants to hurt and use and destroy.

"Fulfil your oath. That is what binds us -- that is all that will ever bind us." Lucius gathers himself far better than anyone else and speaks with a detached coldness. It is hollow and filled with nothing. "Please leave my home."

Harry lets the coldness follow him out. He doesn't protest because he simply doesn't know if he has any right to. Lucius may be right about everything. The uncertainty is what drives Harry out of the room. He feels numb all over. Everything that has pushed him towards Lucius is slowly burning away, leaving behind bitter cinders. There is an inexplicable pain in his chest, gripping him in a thorny embrace, but he isn't sure if it's his pain or Lucius'.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

**Chapter Four**

 

Months go by and the election campaign gets more serious. Public debates, news articles and pictures -- the election is driving people round the bend. The Ministry is buzzing with it as well, rumours and gossip keeping the excitement up. Davenport is getting a lot of support but Astoria is steadily catching up with the slippery wizard.

Hermione is still digging into Davenport's past and she has already met Astoria a few times to discuss everything Harry doesn't care to hear.

The wizard is sitting in his office -- bigger than an Auror's cubicle but smaller than Davenport's office. Harry has a cup of tea on his left and a stack of folders in front of him. Crusher is still lurking around somewhere, bothering Aurors and trying to pin something on them. But that is not what keeps Harry in his office all day and sometimes even all night. He doesn't enjoy staying behind in his office for hours but it's necessary.

He hasn't seen Lucius since walking out of his house and out of his life. It hurts more than he ever thought possible but it is how it must be because Lucius had been right. Harry doesn't know what he wants. Well, he knows that he wants Lucius, but he isn't sure if it's just a physical need or if he wants Lucius in his life because he has feelings for the man. Feelings other than lust and antipathy. It's weighing on him, like a sack of rocks tied to his leg that keeps pulling him under. He can't sleep, can't stop analysing everything, can't get Lucius out of his mind.

He knows that Lucius is far away. Astoria keeps her narrowed gaze on Harry when they end up in each other's presence. She completely blames Harry for the impromptu holiday Lucius had decided to go on and Harry is pretty certain that she is correct. The Malfoy family has a number of houses and flats around the world but thanks to Astoria, Harry knows that Lucius is in Italy and he has not made any plans to return before the end of summer. Just thinking about Lucius in Italy makes Harry grind his teeth together because maybe Lucius is enjoying himself with some really fit Italian bloke, sipping wine and shagging in a luxurious pool in whatever villa Lucius has. It drives Harry crazy, knowing that Lucius should be with him, ought to be absolutely _his_ , but he's not and will never be.

The ache in him grows daily. The realisation that he misses the wizard has Harry feeling frozen to his bones and he feels guilty. There is an off-putting swirling in his stomach each time he tries to forget about it, but his body doesn't want to forget how it felt and his memories are refusing to leave him. With days turning into weeks and weeks into months, Harry has come to understand that love isn't always about butterflies fluttering in one's stomach and fluffy, mushy feelings spinning around and leaving one lightheaded. It can also be a hollow ache, restless nights filled with agonising dreams and confusion. It can be rooted in deep emotional uncertainty and be cruel -- like a soft whisper of madness -- and brittle like shattering glass. It might be fragile and unseen or intense like Fiendfyre that leaves nothing undamaged. It can be a storm or gentle as a sigh. It can be unforgiving, without reprieve and forceful. It's dark beauty and sweet agony.

Harry is startled by the voice of his friend. Hermione is peering inside his office, face tentatively hopeful. "Harry, do you want to get lunch?"

"I need to get these reports done first." Harry chases away the thoughts that have been swarming his mind for weeks now and picks up a folder, opening it. "We'll have dinner some evening, all right?"

"Harry, please don't think I'm prying into your business, but you've been distant lately. Is everything okay with you?"

Harry rubs his eye with the heel of his palm and sighs. "I'm just tired."

"Oh, _please_." Hermione rolls her eyes. "I know this isn't just exhaustion; it's a lot more. I can see that you're hurting."

"I'm fine."

"You're about as fine as Ron when his favourite team loses the World Cup," Hermione points out. She comes into the office and closes the door behind her. "I know something is on your mind."

Harry shakes his head. He finds his glasses under the pile of papers and slips them on. Sometimes he misses the stupid-looking spectacles but Ginny had convinced him to get new ones that would not make him look like a conservative librarian who wears cardigans and likes archaeology.  Hermione's concern is noted and Harry tries to dissuade her. "I'm completely fine, Mione. There is no need for you to worry. I'll deal with it on my own."

"That's the problem with you, Harry. You want to deal with things alone, without asking for help. We care about you."

"Hermione, please leave it alone. I understand that you mean well, but you can't help me with this. This is something I need to do on my own."

"But you do know that you can come to me with anything, right?"

Harry nods.

"Astoria is hosting a fundraiser a week from now in Malfoy Manor; a fancy party for her supporters and campaign. She has invited us as well, and I think it would be the perfect opportunity to demonstrate our allegiance to her."

"I don't know, I might be busy."

"Harry Potter, what in Merlin's name are you playing at right now? Did you forget your oath -- you know, the one that _magically_ compels you to aid Astoria's campaign in every way possible? I am not going to suck up to pure-bloods on my own."

"Look, I can't come, all right! I need to stay as far away from that place and the Malfoys as humanly and magically possible."

Hermione staggers back a few steps and her eyes go impossibly round. "Harry, are you and Lucius Malfoy--"

"No, we aren't anything. We are nothing to each other. Never will _be_ anything. It was a mistake."

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" Hermione crosses her arms and questions. "I can't believe you managed that - out of all the idiotic, reckless things to do."

Harry lowers his eyes and then adds to the picture of desolation he makes by burying his face in his hands. It's an undeniable truth -- a prick of a needle to the back of his mind that suddenly shifts everything into place. All the ache inside, the longing scratching away at his heart, the shame that catches fire each time he thinks about hiding away parts of himself that contain memories of a brief time of unconditional fulfilment -- all of it burns him up with a cruel sensation. The physical pain that travels around his body and burrows into his flesh like a parasite is no irrational pain after all. That rebellious, elusive spark is sentiment -- thriving like a wild flower, carving a pathway through stone and dirt and withstanding the harshest of elements.

"Yeah, it is idiotic and reckless," Harry surmises with a sad grin, "but when have I ever been level-headed or cautious? I didn't wake up one morning and suddenly decide that I'm going to get caught up in the most absurd, illogical thing I can think up, but it still happened and I can't reverse it even if I wanted to. I have to make myself believe that it will pass if I just try really hard and that this dull fucking pain will eventually disappear."

"I don't understand how you can love him, Harry."

"Because you don't understand that I'm not like you or Ron or Ginny. I can't have a functioning relationship with an ordinary, normal man. I don't want to. I will always be affected by what I had to go through as a child and what I had to do and give up. It won't magically vanish and leave me a carefree, cheerful wizard. I won't stop being traumatised just because the war is over and all the bad guys are gone. I've lived with nightmares and aggression for the past ten years and I'm muddling through each day because there is no other way. I refuse to be medicated in order to deal with my issues. You don't understand because I can't let you or Ron be dragged into my problems. I want you to be happy and raise a family and just not know what it can be like."

Hermione sniffles. "We want you to be happy too."

"Happiness for me is sleeping through the night without images of blood and death flashing before my eyes. It's knowing that my friends have each other and that they don't feel the same sort of emptiness and fear as I do." Harry looks away from Hermione's open expression. "I think I might be happy with Lucius. Not in a happy-go-lucky way or even a sensible way -- but in a protected, secluded way that would allow me to be me and not some good and righteous false idol."

"Do you think that's possible?" Hermione asks, but she doesn't specify her meaning.

"I think I have already wasted my chance but it is a nice dream all the same," Harry says with a deep sigh. "Lucius told me that he will not risk everything for an uncertain feeling that I didn't even understand at the time. He was right, you know; I wasn't sure if I wanted to love him or despise him. It was all just a tangled mess of different emotions that felt so alike."

"You know I don't approve or understand, but I am not going to tell you how to live your life." Hermione frowns. "Just please come to Astoria's party with me. You have an oath to fulfil and I definitely won't survive on my own. I need you, Harry."

Although the idea is tying Harry's stomach into knots, he nods. "Fine, I'll be there."

"Clean up a bit, would you," Hermione good-humouredly reprimands. "At least shave and take a shower."

The idea of going back to Malfoy Manor is not only distasteful but causes physical resentment. It is a place Harry associates with memories that have no place in his mind. He can't think about the manor without being reminded of the vulnerability falling over Lucius' face as he had asked Harry to be sure; it is clear to the younger wizard now. Harry had done the very thing Lucius had been afraid of all along -- he had left.

 

*****

 

The witches and wizards who have gathered around the ballroom are mostly pure-bloods and politically sympathetic half-bloods who can at least say that they have pure blood in their lines somewhere. Shacklebolt is a rather surprising guest, but the wizard isn't exactly taking sides; it is only polite to invite the current Minister.

With Ron once again looking after the children, Hermione stands alone. She is waiting for Harry but as time passes without the wizard showing his face, the witch grows irritated. Astoria glides next to Hermione, her face set in a completely fake smile.

"I see Potter has yet to arrive."

Hermione is frustrated herself and snaps. "If he arrives at all."

"I find it curious that Lucius also declined my invitation," Astoria muses. "Don't you find it curious?"

Hermione looks away and mumbles. "What I find _curious_ is your question."

"Surely, we don't have to play this tedious game, Hermione? You know why your friend refuses to step foot in this house and I know perfectly well why my father-in-law refuses to return home. They are both idiots."

"I don't approve of it," the Muggle-born huffs, her expression turning cold. "Lucius is a vile, despicable man and nothing will ever convince me otherwise. I can't comprehend what Harry sees in him to have such strong feelings for him."

Astoria smiles but doesn't comment.

"Please." Hermione glowers, turning to the smirking witch. "You can't possibly think that they would be good for one another, healthy even?"

"Frankly, I believe that it does not concern you. Potter isn't a child who needs minding and protecting," Astoria remarks. "Whatever happened between them left them both emotionally vulnerable and I do blame your friend for it. He ignored my warning and that resulted in unexpected heartache."

Astoria inclines her head and then leaves without waiting for Hermione's response. Draco is entertaining some guests by the window and she heads over. From the corner of her eyes, she spots Harry Potter entering the ballroom. The wizard joins his friend but there is a definite look of discomfort on his face and he keeps looking around, hesitant and almost wary.

Astoria is between two contrasting thoughts. She doesn't dislike Potter but she doesn't trust him near Lucius. She isn't completely sure, but she does hope that the wizard will show up. It is important for Astoria's campaign and will probably increase her chances, for the men in the room will listen to Lucius and trust his word over hers. It is a grim reality, one that Astoria understands and will deal with later.

Potter moves around the room, chatting up all the right people. The wizard isn't stupid; he knows what to do and who to butter up. Astoria knows that it is only because of the oath and feels a bit guilty for pushing Lucius into agreeing. She never predicted such entanglements and discomfort. She certainly didn't consider Lucius falling for Harry Potter. She is convinced that Potter feels entirely miserable and a part of her takes enjoyment in his misfortune, but only because she had watched Lucius leave with an inexplicable sullenness etched into his features. The days that had followed his disappearance had been filled with half-truths and then silence. The witch has no doubt left in her mind -- Potter is the architect of Lucius' quiet grief, but the younger wizard is also the mastermind behind his own heartache and that itself is punishment enough.

 

*****

 

Harry looks around in the lavish room garlanded with everything a pure-blood would enjoy seeing. Paintings and statuettes, the finest wine and food, even the furniture looked decadent and like something out of a museum. Hermione is in her element, talking about legislations and laws and regulations. She even gets into a heated discussion about the rights of witches and the patriarchy that needs to be demolished.

Harry drifts away from her and chats up a few people, but it is all very stuffy and boring. He feels like a charlatan and it only makes him want to run from the room. It all gets a bit more exciting and a great deal harder for Harry once Lucius arrives. An almost compulsive urge wraps around Harry and fills every part of him. He wants to thread his fingers through the silver-white hair, mark every inch of fair, glowing skin. Not once does the wizard look upon Harry, despite being aware that the young man is present.

They are strangers.

The night drags on and Harry can't keep himself from twitching too much. Throughout the night, his eyes have followed Lucius around the room and he feels his throat getting tighter with each glance. He lets his eyes feast while the yearning inside gets worse by the minute with no relief to be had. Harry finally understands the intensity of his feelings for the man slipping in and out from his line of vision -- all lithe grace and restrained posture. There is a flicker of something disarming about his measured movements and each calculated word that passes over his lips. Harry has a difficult time controlling his body's responses -- he can't just press his hand over the hard swell in front of his trousers. He can't resist Lucius, even if the man doesn't entice him on purpose.

Harry loses sight of the wizard as he is busy willing down the stiffness in his groin. The night goes on and at some point, Harry can't see Hermione in the room. He isn't exactly worried, but Hermione doesn't know the house and might get in trouble with some mouthy pure-blood who doesn't like her. A Muggle-born supporting a pure-blood candidate is outrageous enough.

The wizard leaves his drink in the parlour and flits in and out of various rooms. He doesn't see the witch anywhere. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry knows that he shouldn't snoop around but his legs carry him upstairs. He is a slave to his baser desires and he finds himself in Lucius' bedroom. The room looks untouched and Harry realises that Lucius hasn't been there for weeks, months even, and that is because Harry had been indecisive and unkind in his attentions. He walks around in the room, mapping it for no other reason than to perhaps dream of it later. He feels the emptiness in his heart and attempts to push it aside and work against it by telling himself that it will soon pass.

He leaves the bedroom, discarding the idea of nicking a pillow or a sheet. He runs into Hermione in the corridor that leads straight to the other wing. She sees Harry and mutters, "Do you know hard it is to find a bloody bathroom in this place?"

"I've been looking all over for you," Harry says, "I thought you were having a fistfight with some snotty pure-blood prude who doesn't approve of you."

"There is a long line of those," Hermione comments. "I should get home. Ron must be dead on his feet by now. Hugo was feeling a bit poorly when I left and I'm sure Ron has enough on his plate with Rose."

"I'll tell Astoria that we're leaving. I really want to get out of here."

"Harry, I saw you before. You keep looking at Malfoy, and even though I don't like it, I can see that you're hurting. You really have feelings for him, don't you -- genuine, deep feelings?"

Harry swallows and lowers his gaze. He can't deny that he has feelings for Lucius, but he isn't sure if he should tell Hermione that he feels like he can't breathe without him. He gives a quick bob of his head and feels as if he can't even express just how deeply rooted his feelings are.  

"Then I think you should talk to him and get this thing sorted, Harry." Hermione all but orders with a glare. "I don't want you to be alone. If you truly feel that Lucius is who you want then I wish you all the best. You are still my friend and nothing will ever change that. I will even explain it to Ron should you need me to."

"It's too late for that."

"It's never too late, Harry. Just fight for what you want. You've done so much for others -- you give and give and give, never taking anything for yourself. You can't forget about yourself."

Harry shakes his head.

"All right, I will speak to the wizard myself then," Hermione warns, already moving past Harry.

With panic setting in, Harry stops the witch. "Okay, okay, I'll tell him."

"I'm not trying to force you into this, Harry, but you have to think about what you want and need. If he feels something for you -- well, maybe you can be happy. Together." Hermione kisses Harry's cheek and says, "I'll tell Astoria that I have a cranky baby at home and two kids who need me as well. I'm sure she'll understand. You, however, will speak to Lucius. You deserve happiness too."

Harry feels his heart fluttering, terror seeping into his muscles. Hermione walks away and disappears from view, leaving Harry alone.

 

*****

 

Lucius glances over where Harry is standing with some Ministry worker and his young pure-blood bride, confident that the wizard doesn't see him staring. He feels a disgraceful tremble course through him and yields to it because it is too effortless. The time spent away has not erased Harry from Lucius' mind. It is an impulse far greater than anything Lucius has ever experienced and rejecting it is impossible.

He bears the twinges of longing and desire, keeping his eyes away and thoughts firmly on matters unrelated to Harry. Hours tick by and then Harry vanishes. The formidable Mrs Weasley is missing as well. Lucius leaves the ballroom because he is curious. He happens upon the two in the east corridor, talking in moderate tones.

He shudders as Harry's confession slips over his tongue. The silence fills Lucius with anticipation and Harry's distress is almost too sweet. It is only fair that he is not the only one attempting to mend the fractures running across his heart. They are now on equal footing once more, with Harry battling with the same unwanted woes he has inflicted upon Lucius. When the witch leaves, urging Harry to speak to the blond wizard, Lucius retreats. He craves Harry's touch already, just the vision of him igniting the white-hot flames than have not stopped smouldering under the surface.

Lucius doesn't see Harry again that night. The green-eyed wizard leaves like a ghost unseen, taking with him the seed of assurance that he had planted into Lucius.

 

*****

 

A letter arrives on the following morning; one that Astoria plucks from the elf's tiny hand before the creature can take it to Lucius. She eyes the note as if it is something offensive and corrupt, and plans to set it on fire, but something in her resists. She keeps it with her all morning, silently observing the wizard sitting across from her. Lucius has not said a thing, but sometimes his silence speaks more than his words and Astoria knows how to interpret it. He sits, stiff and regal, a perfect mask of surly detachment covering his face like an iron veil that permits nothing past it. No emotion is able to pierce and cut through it, nothing escapes at all. He stirs his tea for far too long, almost whisking a vortex in the middle of the delicate cup, but he does not notice his own impassive reflexes.

Once Draco leaves for work, kissing his wife goodbye, Lucius hums a non-committal reply to his son's parting words. Astoria waits a moment and picks up her own cup of tea, inhaling the scent of bergamot. She is good at making decisions and makes one based on what she has seen with her own eyes and what she considers thoughtful assistance. Astoria clears her throat, hoping to draw the wizard's attention. "A letter arrived for you."

The spoon making idle circles in the fine porcelain cup halts. "I have not received a letter from any of the elves."

"Yes, that is because I intercepted it. For a moment, I truly considered getting rid of it but I could not bring myself to do it. It is from Potter."

Lucius displays an insignificant, almost delicate shift in his expression of disinterest. A mere flicker of debasement and shredded pride flash from his grey moonstone eyes but he does not say a single word.

"I have it right here," Astoria says and produces a neatly closed piece of parchment that is no bigger than her slender hand. She toys with the wax seal and asks, "Shall I read it out to you?"

The wizard's lowered gaze is proof enough of his reluctance to read the words himself. Astoria takes the knife from under her plate and gently nicks the seal, unfolding the top-quality parchment with unhurried ease.

She doesn't scan the written lines for herself, although she does not miss the informal manner of it, and begins reciting Harry's words with a sceptical eye, "You were not prepared to risk yourself for my uncertainties and now I realise that I was not ready to acknowledge or accept my feelings for what they really are. It would have been wrong of me to ask you to wait it out until I sort out my feelings because I couldn't tell the difference between lust or resentment, love or desire. I just knew that I had replaced every rational feeling, sensation and thought with you like a greedy child. I will forever regret my insecurity and inability to recognise my emotions. And although I know that I have no right to tell you this after the way I tormented you, I want you to know that I never loved the idea of you. That is the source of my anger and distrust. My feelings for that idea, of what you symbolise and what you have done, is the reason why I couldn't see past the anger that has built up inside me for many years. I couldn't understand that my feelings for you go beyond desire and all-consuming need and hatred. What I feel is not sensible or perfect but I do that it is love."

Astoria stops and swallows the lump in his throat. She has always enjoyed a good romance. She goes on, "I'm not asking anything of you. I know that I hurt you, just like you thought I would. I was selfish and I apologise for the way I acted. I don't expect you to write back, I don't even know if this letter will ever reach you, but I don't want you to think that it was nothing. It was everything."

She places it on the table and wills herself to remain absolutely unaffected. She briefly wonders if she has ever seen Lucius look so utterly wretched, so haunted. His pallor whiter than death, each breath like an anguished sigh of a dying animal. Harry's words leave bruising indentations on Lucius' skin, his flesh, even his very heart and they give a hollow satisfaction.

It offers indignity and spite and something leaps in him, a feeling of hope aflutter. The concentrated twinges of pain awaken somewhere deep and hidden, ribbons of it surging through him and twitching with muscle memory. The insight into Harry's tumultuous thoughts has Lucius bargaining with his own pride. There is no indication that Harry is being deceitful but still Lucius shields himself from the words of affection and regret, cautious of Harry's agitation and his own willingness. Harry claims that he does not wish anything from the wizard but that itself is a lie because he wants Lucius to know, wants him to look back and remember.

"Shall I burn it or send it back to him?" Astoria questions, toying with the idea of letting Potter suffer in the noose of his own misgivings.

"Leave it, Astoria." Lucius gives a too forceful reply and instantly realises that he's being unjust and entirely obvious in his distress. "Forgive me."

Astoria sighs. She gets up and takes the letter, walking over to her father-in-law. She hands him Potter's confession, hand on his shoulder. "I believe that this is a plea. An undeclared, involuntary and repentant request for you to understand that years of animosity and sins cannot be converted into something as pure as love unless you give it time and purge it from all manner of pretence and falseness. Feelings are not one or the other; they exist alongside one another, within and twisted together and hardly undemanding or logical. This is a request for forgiveness and for a chance to prove that nothing about the two of you has to be normal or simple in order to be real. Give yourself a chance to have someone love you in spite of all the dark and dodgy parts."

Harry's words are soaked with guilt but Lucius feels at fault as well. Perhaps he had been too quick to condemn Harry for his inability to brand his conflicting feelings. Perhaps he had been no less uncertain than the younger wizard, powerless before his own errant desires and years of emotional isolation. He had loved Narcissa -- sincere and controlled -- but as a friend and his son's mother. Nothing about it had been quick and jolting like sinking one's teeth into an electric wire. It had been cordial and comforting. The witch had remained steadfast and affectionate up until her death and she had never denied Lucius anything. A marriage meant to bind had offered a seamless disguise; a pact to take and give and love and live as they wanted and not as they were designed and bred to be. Narcissa had understood perfectly because her needs and desires had been her own and had nothing to do with Lucius.

Potter is not meekly warm and slow and affable; he's demanding and rough and aggressive. He wants and conquers without asking, he is the sort of man that lets everything stream through him and he feels profoundly, feverishly even. He touches with confidence and command; guiding and mastering and wringing out sensation after sensation. Anger drives him and lust ignites him and he treats Lucius like a prize, a willing sacrifice, a whore - and it is all that Lucius wants, feels compelled to have. It is a strange twist of mockery that Harry Potter is the one who is in command of the exquisite pleasure and reckless abandon that Lucius aches for, but the fall into bestial lust -- a wild sightless desire -- is effortless. Harry has control over his body and heart, binding him as a cruelly tender master.

Harry is a being of solitude and conceals scars inside his skin; a wizard with terrible dreams of death and the sting of brutality. He has a monster on his back, claws piercing through his flesh -- a malicious spirit of the unseemly past -- and it lives there, thrives and withers like a natural life-form that goes through change and variation. Lucius understands it -- he _lives_ with it. He is a part of the hideous spectre that never leaves Harry's consciousness. He has fed the beast for years; it is a cruel and terrible curse he has to keep and absolve and share with the other wizard. Lucius knows that he doesn't love Harry with pureness and dignity; it is a dark, secret thing that wants to be sheltered. It isn't a fluttering wind but the core of a storm that comes in a threatening silence but is devastating as it arrives. It is tragic and stifling and feels like a tip of a knife gently pressed against his heart -- but it is intimate.

Lucius doesn't leave the dining room, even when the elves come to clean the table from dishes. He just sits and endures the ripples of unwavering emotions racing through him, but he can't make up his mind. He can't go to Harry as if all can be wiped away by a handful of words -- but if there is a chance, some sort of accord between them, he has to try. Astoria's words bring him comfort and pacify his worries a bit, but he won't be able to get through the day without thinking about Harry's letter.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

**Chapter Five**

 

There really isn't any strength left in Harry as he gets home from the Ministry. He gets a few steps inside his sitting room and slumps into the sofa, muscles aching and feet numb from standing up too much. Three raids and a stack of paperwork later, Harry feels horrible -- like hammered shit. Thankfully, he has a few days off from work starting tomorrow.

Gerty, the assiduous house-elf, tries to bring him a plate of food but Harry doesn't feel like eating and tells the elf to keep it warm for later. A lot of stuff around Harry's townhouse is Muggle -- he has a refrigerator that runs on magic, a fancy coffee machine and a stove that also work with magic. Hermione had set everything up and even installed a telly for her friend but Harry doesn't use it very often. Harry doesn't have Muggle friends, aside from his therapist, so he has no need for a Muggle phone either. He rather likes his home; it's tasteful and roomy but nothing too exaggerated. He likes his furniture comfortable and practical, not like the adorned art work that passes as furniture in Malfoy Manor.

He can't think about Malfoy Manor without a jagged pain shooting up his spine. His yearning is now a physical sensation and he hates it. It keeps reminding him that his feelings are real and true, but they are his to endure in silence. He doesn't even know for sure why he had sent the letter, other than a sense of deliverance that he hoped to gain, but he now regrets it. He has spent the past two days fretting, alternating between wanting Lucius to read it, but also hoping that he doesn't ever get to see Harry's confession. Maybe it will be best to just let it all rest, allow it to settle and scar over. He pines in silence by himself; there isn't anything he can do.

He waits for another hour before heading upstairs to bed. It isn't terribly late, just a little over nine in the evening, but Harry wants to sleep. Even a shower proves to be a struggle but he gets by and gets under the covers, flicking the lights off. Sinking into the pillows, Harry shudders in exhaustion and feelings that crackle and swarm but have no outlet. He doesn't dream of nice things very often but some disjointed thoughts skim the surface of his mind, touching and gliding across the gentle waves of consciousness. Reflections slip in and out, painting flashes of colour across the blank canvas of Harry's psyche, but forms and figures twist and blend together and create almost pleasant images. For weeks now, Harry gets glimpses of his desire -‒ an expanse of pale flawless skin, the curve of a spine that arches under Harry's burning hand, slender legs wrapped around him, spun gold between his fingers like silk; an immoral being clad in silver and diamond-dust writhing and begging under him like a beautiful apparition pulled from the very core of Harry's soul.

Just as Harry starts to feel the pull of oblivion, Gerty pops into the bedroom, hands wringing the hem of her uniform. She sways back and forth and clears her throat with a squeak. "Master Harry, there be a visitor for yous."

Harry pushes himself up on his elbows and eyes the elf. "A visitor? Who?"

The house-elf blinks. "Mister Malfoy be waiting for Master Harry in the sitting room. Gerty says that Master Harry asleep, but the wizard not listen."

"Thanks, Gerty," Harry tells the elf, suddenly in a stupor. He throws his legs over the edge of the bed and tells the elf to go and do whatever she wants or needs to do. He pulls on a pair of loose-fitting trousers and grabs a t-shirt from the floor and throws it on as he goes downstairs.

He finds Lucius in the sitting room, like a magnificent vision from one of Harry's dreams. The blond hears Harry's steps and turns to face the wizard. There is despair shining in his eyes, but it is a fleeting aftertaste compared to the starving look of a wizard who feels half-whole, half-breathing, half-fulfilled. He looks just like Harry feels inside. The younger wizard's hands twitch with the effort to not reach out, to keep himself from grabbing Lucius as if he is Harry's salvation, but he stands still and calm. Hope is such a cruel sentiment and Harry barely trusts it.

"I received your letter," Lucius says as a way of explaining his presence but it does little to clarify it. He battles with his desperation and keeps himself from begging. Even overwrought and thin-skinned to Harry's attentions, Lucius has to let his dignity survive.

Harry doesn't know what to say. He is surprised and hopeful, but mostly he feels terrified. "I didn't think you'd read it."

"Tell me again," Lucius tells the younger wizard; he entices and shivers from the exposure of Harry's intense gaze, his strained composure.

There is a reluctance in Harry's body, perhaps from fearing his own impulses or from the rejection waiting ahead. He sees Lucius and wants to mark him with his teeth, his pleas, his come -- he takes a step closer, then another and struggles to keep his hands away from the wizard. He knows that Lucius is affected by his closeness, his pulse trembling like the wings of a bird, trapped and frightened. His moonlit eyes darken with arousal. Lucius is not here to hurt him, that much becomes clear as Harry pulls him in. "You are a snare around my neck, Lucius. I know that every feeling, every emotion, every thought always leads me directly to you. Not seeing you, touching you, feeling you -- it makes me ache. I suffer like a wraith without the sun, and I will bear it if you ask me because I will love you until everything else has lost all meaning. I will shelter you from any storm that comes our way."

Lucius yields to Harry's lips grazing his own, breathing life into him.

"There are dreadful sins clinging to our backs," Harry whispers, his mouth tasting the skin on Lucius' neck. "We are not pure or divine or good. I don't want you to be. I want you to be mine. Will you?"

"Yes," Lucius hisses out a breathless reply, consumed by Harry's touches and biting kisses.

The wizard slips his hands under Lucius' robe and lets it fall on the floor. The fingers that knead their way down his sides wrap Lucius in a vice-like grip and Harry takes them upstairs to the bedroom in a soft crack. The room is dark but the shadows offer an illicit calmness as Harry removes each item of clothing from Lucius' body and smiles to himself as he finds very little to tear off. His own shirt and pants follow.

Harry shivers from the need, the release of hidden emotions and sacred words. He has barely any self-control left; he's like a ravenous fiend as he tugs and pushes Lucius who submits to Harry's fervent touches and silent commands. Lucius stretches out on the bed, Harry slotted between his legs -- grinding and devouring as a man possessed, his eyes glowing in the dark. There is no finesse or feathery touches left in Harry as he greedily consumes each moan and whimpers, trailing his hands downward and stroking shivering skin and tensing muscles as Lucius' body reacts to the stimulation.

When Harry's hands start caressing mindless circles on the blond's splayed thighs, he offers a glinting smile and slides one hand between Lucius' legs. The moan melts apart into a purr as Harry taunts and teases the wizard's opening. "You didn't come prepared, Lucius."

"I did not want to torment myself."

Harry feels a stab of indignity under his ribs and lets it grip him for a moment. Lucius had come to him, confident and captivating and Harry had taken the offering, but there is no such buoyancy in Lucius now as he writhes under Harry with everything stripped to the core. The wizard has been taken apart and he is emotionally disfigured, involuntarily demure, trembling and breathless and shameless -- there is an unholy perfection to him that Harry has come to love.

Fingers slick with the summoned lubrication, Harry feels Lucius tremor as he teases and soothes and sinks inside the docile body. Harry has never been overly adoring of preparation or tender foreplay, but he has never loved the person he is taking, so it is all a bit new and derailing. It feels like worship and every silent shudder goes through Harry as well, connected and sharing Lucius' wretched bliss. The merger is sublime and frightening; Harry's heart quivers in his chest.

Lean muscles rippling under fair skin strain; Lucius appears wrecked, sweet and equally obscene to have Harry's remorseless fingers thrusting deeper and curling with cruel meticulousness.

Harry feels none of the fatigue that had kept his muscles hostage. The volatile need is like a thin, sharp needle that prods through his body. He can't contain the impetuous sparks firing through him any better than Lucius can control himself. "Tell me what you want, Lucius. Beg me for it."

Lucius has abandoned all propriety and polished veneer; wanton and open and defenceless before Harry's testing gaze. "I want you to take the ache away. I need you to fill me and fulfil me."

Harry craves the silken heat, the exquisite dark torture of being dragged to the edge of the abyss and damnation. He wrenches the spread thighs to his hips, arranging Lucius without mercy or reprieve and surrounds him utterly. Harry stops with the head of his cock nearly a kiss away and flexes his shoulders as if throwing off an imaginary cloak of oppression and defiance and shame that had gripped him before. He presses in, hot and lustrous and like a silk glove around him. Filling and fulfilling and joining them together in a union of ungodliness and harmony. Harry thrusts with a deliberate ease and slowness, pulling every sensation, provoking the tiniest of nerves and marking himself upon the quivering flesh. Lucius, a wingless sprite, shaking with hot shivers and a terrible need -- ethereal and dangerous and wholly Harry's.

"I want to ruin you," Harry hisses, a soft growl. He tilts his body forward, urging Lucius to tighten his legs around him as he keeps up a relentlessly unbearable pace that builds up on itself like a wind that gathers power. He pins Lucius hands above his head, locking his wrists together. "I'll keep you in my bed, spread and dripping."

A lovely red flush spreads across Lucius' throat and chest, both eager and shaken by his own deplorable desires. The image of his own desperate, graceless need has him pleading without a sound, his body entirely stretched and quaking with each thrust and drag of Harry's cock. The voice that spills over his lips is not his own -- broken and fragile moans and whimpers, pitiable in their soft tones and begging nature and utterly soaked in degradation and brazen lust. The dark-haired demon above him doesn't surrender his brutally painstaking pace that buries him to the hilt each time, sending a stabbing jolt of transcendent pleasure through Lucius like a shock-wave. It is Harry's plea for absolution. He tries to erase each internal bruise with physical indulgence, hopes to absolve each thoughtless word and action by driving Lucius to pure abandon. 

Harry feels the cramping tension in the sinuous legs splayed over his hips and the fluttering within that clenches and pulses around his cock. Lucius shatters underneath him, arms straining and chest rising with gasping breaths. Untouched, utterly unravelled, delirious -- keening and incoherent as Harry keeps striking the oversensitive, aching spot inside without faltering in his determination to despoil Lucius.

A searing tunnel of blackness develops around Harry's eyes as he finds his release. It is like a cord tightening around his cock, constricting and throbbing with burning warmth as he brims over with jarring emotions and raw shivers that might strip the flesh from his bones. The dark-haired wizard is overwrought with debauchment as he pulses inside the velvety, contracting hole drowned in his come and silent promises.

Muscles battered and sore, his breath locked in his throat; Harry cradles the spent body of his lover and speaks softly with no reservation. "I love you. Believe in that."

There is a look of genuineness in glossy silver eyes, flickering unbidden. "I believe in you."

"I'm a dreadful person with a horrible temper, and I work too much and I don't keep in touch with my friends," Harry says with a chuckle. "You deserve better, but I'm not going to give you up."

"You are not exactly in for a delight either," Lucius hums and shifts against Harry, enjoying the warm hand drawing mindless patterns against his blushing skin.

Harry knows exactly what sort of _delight_ Lucius is and finds that it is everything he loves about the wizard. He caresses his fingers down the warm rosy skin that is still wrought with dwindling spikes of pleasure that are in no hurry to dissipate. There is a sort of weariness embracing him, arms and legs flaccid and tangled with the blond's but there is a sense of contentment as well. The dull ache in his heart is absent; nothing lingers and tears at him. It is nearly serene.

 

*****

 

Hermione looks around Harry's sitting room and then wanders into the kitchen. Even the house-elf is nowhere to be seen, even though everything looks thoroughly cleaned and there are fresh flowers in the vase on the table. She calls out for her friend but there is no reply. She leaves her slim briefcase on the table and starts the coffee machine. Harry is most likely still sleeping and will want a hot cup of coffee when he stumbles down. She even makes herself toast and pours out some juice, but it feels suspiciously silent and she feels awkward eating Harry's food. If Harry is still sleeping, Hermione will just wake him because she has important business.

The bedroom door is closed and she doesn't knock because it's Harry. However, she manages to stop herself when she hears Harry laugh. It is bewildering for the witch, for she hasn't heard Harry laugh in years. He makes scathing remarks and chuckles and snorts and even smirks, but Harry doesn't laugh as he did when they were children. To hear it now -- Hermione is curious and utterly grateful to whatever has Harry in stitches. She gets the door open a little without betraying her presence and tries to listen, but she doesn't really hear because Harry's bedroom is ridiculously large.

Disappointed, she sneaks back into the kitchen and finds Gerty. The elf smiles, but she is hesitant. She doesn't want to have days off and get paid in wizard money, but that is exactly what Hermione Granger keeps telling her. 

"Gerty, please tell Harry that I'm here." Hermione takes a seat and sips the juice she had poured out earlier.

The elf looks at her as if she wants Hermione to do it herself but she still nods and pops out. When she returns, her ears are a bit red. Gerty is fairly young and had served an elderly witch before ending up with Harry Potter, so it is perfectly understandable that seeing the wizard in such a compromising situation -- well, Gerty had not wanted to see how human wizards get their rocks off.

A good twenty minutes later, Harry comes skulking into the kitchen, his t-shirt rumpled and his boxer shorts riding low. Not that Hermione minds; she has no impulse to jump Harry like a lot of women would.

"Sorry about that," Harry says, scratching his arm. He inhales and looks around. "You made coffee? Bless you, Mione."

Hermione clears her throat, smiling to herself. "You are suspiciously chipper, Harry."

Harry dunks a cube of sugar into his coffee and turns to Hermione. "I'm pretty shagged out. It's a miracle I'm able to move at all. Since it's my day off, I really had no plans to get out of bed at all."

A shadow of understanding passes through Hermione's eyes. She pins Harry with an almost scathing look.

"I'm going to be honest with you." Harry looks at Hermione over the rim of his cup. "Lucius is upstairs."

"I'm not going to press you for details. Let's just say that I am cautiously glad that you worked it out." Hermione shrugs. "I'm not going to get into it -- _ever_. I'm quite happy to ignore it for the rest of my life."

Harry snorts but won't try to change Hermione's mind. "So, what brings you here so early in the morning?"

Hermione rolls her eyes. "It's well over ten. You're just a lazy sod."

"What's in the brown case?"

"That's why I'm here," Hermione explains. "As you know, I called Creevey and told him that you needed a favour. He's still totally hung-up on the greatest hero of our time and he agreed almost right away. So for the past two months, he has been looking into Davenport's case."

Harry is interested but he is even more interested in Lucius who walks into the kitchen in a dressing gown Harry definitely doesn't own. It looks divine on the wizard, all flowing silk and glinting blue. There is a silver clasp holding up a handful of hair while strands of it fall freely around his face. Harry wants to see that every morning -- until he can't see at all.

Lucius clears his throat and gains Hermione's attention. The witch doesn't look at him with hate but there is something cold in her gaze. An alert sort of gleam that doesn't approve or condemn. They don't greet each other with words, but the slight acknowledging nod is mostly acceptable when communicating with former enemies.

Harry forgets Hermione almost immediately and focuses wholly on Lucius. "That's not mine." Harry slides his fingers down the lapel of the dressing gown.

"I had one of the elves bring it to me from the manor."

Harry hums. "It's decadent."

Hermione sighs to herself and says, "I'm still here, and still completely uninterested in you sex-life, Harry. Do you want to hear what Creevey found or not?"

There is an almost apologetic expression on Harry's face as he nods. He hopes that Hermione won't notice his hand slipping under Lucius' dressing gown as he arranges them to sit down across from Hermione.

Hermione shuffles a handful of pictures around the table and points at a number of them. "The photographs were taken with a Muggle camera by one of the Muggle-born protesters who used to belong to the radical group that Davenport ran. All of these pictures were taken between 1989 to 1991 and the group fell apart after that. Creevey managed to track down the key members of the group and it turns out that most of them are either dead or living as Muggles all around the world. The woman who took the pictures -- she lives in Leeds, runs a little herbal remedies' shop, prefers to live as a Muggle but practices magic while making potions."

"Did he talk to this woman?" Harry questions. When Hermione nods, he asks again, "Well, what did Creevey find out?"

"The Muggle-borns in the group were all in the same year, all of them Ravenclaws; all but one. Walter Davenport, while a Ravenclaw, was three years above them. She gave Colin all these pictures and listed all the members." Hermione points at a young man with glasses and says, "This is Walter Davenport."

Harry takes the picture and inspects it. He shows it to Lucius who shares a doubting look with him. "That's not Davenport."

Hermione smiles, all clever and triumphant, and her eyes gleam. "Let me put it in another way; that's the _real_ Walter Davenport. The tall one with glasses, carrying that flag -- that _is_ Davenport."

"What are you saying?"

"Look behind him -- the young man with neat hair, wearing a t-shirt that says 'rebel without a cause'." Hermione yanks the picture back and taps her finger against the person. "According to Julie Fenton, the Muggle-born witch who used to hang out with the group and who took the pictures, this bloke who we know as Walter Davenport is, in fact, Henry Unwin. He's the grandson of Nobby Leach."

"Nobby Leach was the first Muggle-born Minister, right?"

Lucius says, "My father had him ousted from the office."

"Julie Fenton was adamant that it's Unwin." Hermione frowns. "Now this is where the story gets a bit strange. Fenton said that Davenport disappeared after their last rally and she helped Colin contact Davenport's aunt. She told Colin that she hasn't seen her nephew for fifteen years and she even filed a missing person report but the Muggle police couldn't find him and Aurors were never notified because all of Davenport's friends were suddenly gone as well and his aunt is a Muggle who doesn't know much about the wizarding world. Colin showed Fenton the _Daily Prophet_ front page with Davenport's picture and she confirmed that the wizard in the picture is Henry Unwin."

"Hold on," Harry tells the witch. "You're telling us that this Unwin fellow is pretending to be Walter Davenport?"

"That is exactly what I am telling you." Hermione pulls out another stack of papers. "Colin got the reports that Davenport's aunt filed with the Muggle police and even a picture of Davenport. No one has seen the real Walter for fifteen years and there are no records of his death either. Fenton said that the last time she saw Davenport, the man told her that he was going to Australia and join the magical community in Adelaide. You have to register yourself as a magic user when you get there. I contacted the registration department and they have no records of him at all. He never made it there."

"Henry Unwin is posing as Walter Davenport. That's identity theft." Harry shares a look with Lucius and smiles. "His chances of ever getting elected are close to nothing once it gets out that he's lying about who he is."

"What I would like to know is how no one has discovered his deception?" Lucius muses.

Hermione says, "Colin sent me all of his findings but I decided to look into this myself. I found records on a Henry Unwin but most of the information has been erased. Mrs Hobson from the Department of Records was just as baffled as I was but then I remembered that Davenport used to work down in the Department of Records and he had access. He simply wiped away all evidence and took over the real Davenport's life."

"Where the hell is the real Davenport?"

"Unwin must have done something to him," Hermione surmises.

"Why would he impersonate Davenport? I thought all of the members of the group were Muggle-borns. I don't get it."

Hermione shrugs. "Maybe he was envious of the wizard, maybe he thought he would have more influence as Davenport. Frankly, I don't care. I'm just curious about what happened to the real Davenport."

"If he actually falsified records, it becomes a criminal offence. I recommend giving your findings to Kingsley Shacklebolt. The man will always be an Auror at heart and it would further anger him to realise that he has been fooled by someone he trusted." Lucius smirks, taking enjoyment in the knowledge that the Muggle-born wizard is facing such degrading downfall. He adds with a knowing smile. "Shacklebolt is a wily old fox and he'll want to cart the wizard to Azkaban himself. I do believe that the authentic Davenport didn't disappear on his own."

Hermione seems in agreement. "I think involving Kingsley can benefit us."

"Astoria will be pleased," Lucius says.

"You know, I think Unwin has always had radical, crazy ideas about how the magical world should be and posing as Davenport gives him more of a platform to make his ideas come alive. Julie Fenton did say that they considered kicking Unwin out of their little organisation because he wanted to punish the pure-bloods for their superiority." Hermione gets up and gathers the pictures. "I'll talk to Kingsley as soon as possible."

"Let us know," Harry tells the witch as he stands, ready to escort her to the Floo.

Hermione's lips twitch. She isn't sure if Harry himself realises what he said but Hermione won't poke her nose into it. She wants Harry to be happy and she can learn to accept Lucius for Harry's sake. She smiles. "I can find your fireplace on my own."

Harry sits back down and slips his hand on Lucius' leg.

"Oh, before I forget," Hermione says, fumbling around in her purse. "Ginny got us tickets for her next match. Here's yours."

Harry eyes the ticket that Hermione sets on the counter and says, "Shite, I forget that it's this weekend. She'll have me sit next to Zabini again."

"Suck it up, Harry," Hermione tells him with an amused look before she leaves the kitchen. "Ginny will leave off if you tell her."

"Give Rose a kiss from me," Harry hollers after her.

Lucius stands and says, "I ought to inform Astoria of this wonderful development."

While Harry agrees that it is important to let the witch know, he isn't particularly fond of letting Lucius leave. "That can wait for a little. I think we need to talk about a few things."

"Very well." Lucius remains standing, a frown appearing on his face.

Harry smirks and gets up, his legs carrying him over to the other wizard. He slips his arms around Lucius and says, "Relax, it's nothing bad."

The blond does loosen up a bit, his back no longer stiff as a rod. It is an illusory image of them, resolved and content, but Harry's hands feel real and Lucius isn't some simpleton panting after him in his dreams.

"I'm not going to strong-arm you into anything, but just the thought of seeing you once a week makes me sick to my stomach. I want you to spend every night in my - _our_ bed -- and I want to come home to you after a day in the Ministry and bitch about the incompetent rookies and you can tell me how you did absolutely nothing because you're rich and then we'll end the day with a glorious shag. I'm not going to drag you to the Burrow or introduce you to my friends or even expect you to agree to any of my ideas, but I don't want to miss you."

Lucius has never in his entire life considered living anywhere else than Malfoy Manor. It had belonged to his ancestors, then his father and now it is his - soon to be Draco's - and the idea of not living in his family home has always seemed absurd and completely unnecessary. Until now, that is. Until Harry and these surrendering emotions. He can't ask Harry to live in the manor; the notion of Harry sharing a home with that many Malfoys is potentially disastrous. Lucius feels so utterly ensnared by his own emotions that attempting to go against them is futile and possibly foolish.

Harry's townhouse is acceptable; modern and not too Muggle- _ish_. Of course, there is plenty of room for improvement and Lucius hopes that Harry will not protest. He says, "You propose living together?"

"Well, yes -- but only if _you_ want to," the dark-haired wizard smiles, although it's cautious and a touch too imploring. Harry really wants Lucius to want it. "I know that Malfoy Manor is a symbol of your wealth and authority and generations have lived there and it's sort of a big deal for you. I'm not saying I'd hate it _completely_ , but I know I won't be comfortable living in a place that reminds me of the bad times. I don't want the past to spoil our future, but I guess if you don't want to move --"

Lucius shuts Harry up with a kiss. Sometimes Harry just talks too much and does not listen enough. "Malfoy Manor is just stone upon stone; an archaic, wasteful crypt that is now Draco's problem. I will, of course, redecorate and replace some pieces of furniture. Surely, you do not expect me to live below the standard I am accustomed to."

"I wouldn't dare, love."

"Say that again." Lucius all but melts into Harry.

"My love, my beloved, my darling," Harry says, his lips mouthing the words against the blond's neck and throat. "Mine."

"I do like how that sounds." Lucius hums and lets Harry press him against the kitchen counter, the wizard's mouth claiming kisses.

 

*****

 

Before the war -- before all the death and destruction -- Harry had loved Quidditch. It was the sort of thing that made him feel free, untouchable even. He knew the rules of the game. There had been no rules with Voldemort.

Death has no rules; it offers chains and pain. Harry doesn't really feel anything when he watches the Quidditch game between the Holyhead Harpies and Caerphilly Catapults start, both teams taking off on their brooms.

Ron, Hermione and their children are all sitting in their assigned box but Harry feels like moving around. He can't sit with his friends and have it all be like it used to be. Ron is a dedicated, domesticated house-husband. He and Harry don't really go out anymore; Ron has different priorities now and that is okay by Harry because he is happy for his friends. He hadn't expected them to remain the same as they were or stay as close.

Things have never been the same after the Horcrux hunt. Spoken truths and words left unsaid -- it is still lingering between the three of them but mostly between Harry and Ron, with whom the dark-haired wizard had never truly resolved things. Drifting apart had seemed like an easier way to deal with the aftermath of their friendship falling apart. Back then, Harry had excused Ron for leaving but hadn't forgiven him completely. Ten years later, he still feels like there is a chasm between two friends who used to share everything.

Harry takes a seat in one of the booths in the back of the stadium where a makeshift pub has been set up. He orders a plate of chips and looks around. He hears the cheering and the observations provided by a very eager commentator, but he lets it wash over him. He eats the salty chips and waits for the match to be over. A while later, Hermione finds him nursing a pint of lager and tells him that she and Ron are going home with the kids because Rose isn't feeling well and Harry nods. Message received. Hermione's face is pinched in disappointment, but she decides to stay silent. She smiles and leaves Harry on his own.

After the match, some odd forty minutes later, Harry finds himself sharing a drink with his former girlfriend. Ginny, sore from a bad fall and irritated from losing the match, sips the foam from her butterbeer and rests on her elbows. "I can't believe I slipped off my broom. I could tell my arse was a bit tender, but falling off my broom in the middle of the match is pretty much the worst thing that could have happened and actually did."

"I really don't want to know why your arse is tender," Harry points out with a glare.

"This time it isn't Blaise's fault," Ginny says with a cheeky smile. "I was helping Mum around the Burrow the other day and fell on my arse when I tried to pick up a box with my old toys and a something flew right at me as I moved the container. I don't let Blaise near my arse, you know. That's your area."

Harry snorts. "Actually, not exactly my area either."

"That's funny," Ginny tells the wizard, "because I thought since you weren't really interested in putting your back into it, you would be interested in getting buggered. But maybe that was because you just didn't want to fuck a girl, namely _me_."

"Look, I was a total twat, but you can't keep making these stinging comments."

Ginny looks over to Harry and sighs. "I know -- and believe me, I'm not being a bitch on purpose -- but I just get caught up in the past sometimes. I don't hate you or anything but when I look at you, I am reminded of that time when you hurt me. I know you can't switch it off but I guess I wanted you to change for me. I loved you, Harry. I even thought we'd get married one day, have kids, build a life together."

"And I destroyed your dreams," Harry states with a burdened sigh. "I am sorry for hurting you, Ginny, but I wanted to be honest with you. You deserve to be someone's one and only and you wouldn't have been mine. You and Zabini -- I mean, he's good to you, right?"

Ginny nods. "Yeah, he is. We're not madly in love, but we have fun together." The witch gathers herself a bit and says, "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you're sort of hard to love. You don't let people in; you keep these walls around you for protection or maybe because you think others need protection from what is inside. I think it's because you matured too quickly, you never did learn how to be vulnerable and weak. You still keep everything inside and you don't even realise how much that hurts us. We want to help you, Harry. It's not a bad thing to share your problems."

Harry doesn't want anyone to see what he keeps inside. Ginny is partly right -- the things he keeps inside are there for safe keeping. All the ugly, despicable things that have been rotting inside for years -- his guilt and disgrace. He can't let his friends see, can't let them be tainted.

Ginny sees Harry's sullen expression and she comes up with another topic to discuss. "So, are you seeing anyone?"

There is a definite flush spreading from Harry's neck to his throat. He isn't exactly sure if he and Lucius are dating, even though they have spent the past three nights together and Harry can't even imagine staying away from the wizard. He assumes that they have skipped the dating stage altogether and are now doing what couples do after leaving the 'get to know each other' phase. He knows Lucius more intimately than any other. Lucius had tried to kill him and Harry had responded in kind -- that is more than any other couple can say. Harry has no illusions about Lucius Malfoy; he knows what the man has done and what he believes in. Harry doesn't idealise Lucius as some dainty, soft creature that he can control and adore, but rather sees him as the wicked thing he is.

"Earth to Harry," Ginny says and waves her hand in front of the wizard's face. "You disappeared for a moment."

Harry takes a mouthful of his drink and wipes the foam from his lip. He spots Ginny's glittering eyes on him and asks, "What's that look for?"

"You are totally obvious, Harry. Who is this bloke you're seeing then?"

"What makes you think I'm seeing anyone?"

Ginny gives him an unconvinced, amused look. "Because even though you want to remain Mister Mysterious, I know you. You are the master of dodging, Harry. So spill -- is he fit, gorgeous, swoon-worthy? He's not a Muggle, is he? I don't have a problem with Muggles but think of all the things you wouldn't be able to do in the bedroom with a Muggle."

"What has Zabini been teaching you?"

"What?" Ginny flutters her eyes with a coy smile. "Is it a crime to sexually experiment with a hot, flexible boyfriend? Are you going to arrest me for that?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, but I might tell your mother."

"You wouldn't dare." Ginny draws in a sharp breath. "Mum isn't fully on board yet, so don't ruin Blaise's chances of getting the Molly Weasley seal of approval."

"If she knits him a customary Weasley jumper for Christmas, he's in."

Ginny laughs. "No pressure then."

"How are you parents anyway?"

"You'd know that yourself if you would just visit them."

Harry sighs to himself and looks away from Ginny's reproachful gaze. "I don't want to upset your mum. You know how pissed she was when we broke up and you didn't really help the situation by crying on her shoulder and telling her that I broke it off because I didn't want you."

"You _didn't_ want me. That was the whole point, Harry."

"I didn't want you because you're a woman, not because I didn't want _you_ in particular. Molly sent me a Howler, you know. She couldn't even put her shame in words because I had desecrated your honour and wasn't even going to make an honest woman out of you."

Ginny cringes and says, "That was pretty bad, I admit. I was distraught and I didn't think about expressing myself in a clear way for Mum to understand that you're not interested in me as a partner because I don't have a cock. I did explain later, didn't I?"

"After she promised to flatten me with her skillet."

"Fine, it was completely my doing, but I was pretty pissed at you myself." Ginny concedes and then smiles. "And you are still trying to avoid my question. Tell me about this man you are seeing."

In his mind, Harry can already see Ginny's face constricting in anger and disgust, so it really is not surprising that he doesn't want to talk about it.

"It can't be that bad, Harry." Ginny pesters on. "Will I get to read about it in the paper?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Leave off, okay."

There is a beat of silence and then Ginny makes a strange, slightly amused noise and says, "You know, I'm not an idiot. Harry Potter, the once celebrated hero of the Second Wizarding War, consorting with the infamous Malfoy family and lending his voice to pure-blood Astoria Malfoy as she attempts to win the impending elections. Was that not the shocking headline of the _Daily Prophet_ some time ago? I know you're supporting Astoria's candidacy and I really couldn't figure out why...until all the pieces of the puzzle fell together."

Harry has never considered Ginny to be stupid and knows that she's on to something.

"It can't be Astoria because you're uninterested in the lush curves of a woman. It can't be Draco Malfoy because he's utterly devoted to his wife who seems to be into pointy, slippery gits. So that leaves Lucius Malfoy. The idea itself seemed absurd to me at first, but then it didn't seem so absurd at all." Ginny shifts in her seat and turns to Harry, her expression pointed and shrewd. "I don't find it surprising that you're shagging him -- I mean, now that I think about it, I do find it surprising that _you_ are the one doing the buggering, but I guess it's more of a shock that you got Malfoy to bend over for you. What's the deal, Harry? Mid-life crisis before the big thirty?"

"A change in perspective." Harry shrug without feeling the need to go on.

"I'm not going to beat you over the head with something to get some sense back into you. Frankly, it makes sense, although I don't personally see the appeal. Not into child endangering, Voldemort-worshipping psychos, but you can't account for taste. The point is that you have been through a lot of shit and I don't expect you to be as well-adjusted and mentally in one piece as other people your age."

"That almost sounded like you think I'm mentally unstable."

Ginny smiles wryly. "That is basically what I am saying, yes."

"I don't disagree," Harry says.

"Don't misunderstand," Ginny goes on. "I'm not saying you should check yourself into St. Mungo's, but I do think that you can't live a normal, stable life and just move on from the past as if it never happened. It will always be there and you work around it, but you will never truly feel like it's over. There is nothing _wrong_ with you, Harry. You had a rough childhood and you had to face death at an early age; it changes you and gives you an understanding of life that no one else has. My family suffered a loss that will never stop hurting, Hermione's parents are still lost to her to some extent because they will never remember all those wonderful memories they made with their child and countless parents will always mourn the loss of a child."

"I feel guilty for being alive. Teddy has no parents because I couldn't stop Voldemort; because I wasn't brave enough to face him sooner. Fred would still be here if I hadn't been a coward; if I had not been weak."

Ginny lightly punches her fist against Harry's arm and says with an annoyed look. "Stop blaming yourself, Harry. Remus and Tonks knew what they were doing. They made a choice to stand up against tyranny and they accepted the consequences. My brother wasn't there for you, Harry. He was fighting with his family, with his friends. Nobody died for _you_ ; it was a choice to fight alongside you and fight for their families."

"I do understand that, but I can't get rid of the feeling that it's all my fault. My therapist said that it's survivor's guilt; something Muggle soldiers go through or people who have been in accidents feel after surviving."

Ginny offers a compassionate smile. "There is no cure for it. You just get by and you try to make peace with your demons."

Harry nods.

"So, you and Malfoy -- what's that like?"

"Therapeutic, intense and sometimes turbulent," Harry says. "I don't have to hide all the ugly parts. I'm not afraid to scare him away with my nightmares or my flaring temper. I feel like myself -- the real Harry. I don't need others to like it or approve of my relationship with Lucius. It's most likely the only thing in my life -- past or present -- that does not make me feel guilty."

Smiling, Ginny hums. "Then you shouldn't feel guilty. Not many will approve of this relationship, but you have to consider your own happiness. Broken-hearted as I was, I didn't want you to be happy. You made me feel unhappy with myself and I was being spiteful, but now I understand that you and I would have been miserable together and breaking it off was the only possible option for us. I've discovered hidden parts of myself with Blaise; he has taught me so much about appreciating my own body, my feelings and needs. I feel comfortable with myself. I want that for you too, Harry."

"Are you proposing a session with the great sexual healer himself?"

Ginny rolls her eyes. "No, you tosser. I'm just saying that I'm happy for you. You never really liked physical contact, hugging you was pretty much like hugging an inanimate object, and it's a miracle you didn't flinch. All I'm getting at is that if you can be comfortable with Malfoy, I won't ever tell you to dump his arrogant arse and run for the hills. You need comfort and intimacy like any other miserable soul on this earth."

"I didn't think you would be so accepting."

"Malfoy is just under Umbridge in my list of detestable individuals, but he's not the worst sort of sod I've seen in my life. I won't be getting him a Christmas present anytime soon, but I guess I trust him to make you happy. You will always hide parts of yourself should you get together with some average bloke, but you won't have to with someone like Malfoy."

"Thanks, I guess," Harry says with a reassured smile. "So you won't be getting us a housewarming gift then?

Ginny gawks. "Wait -- you're moving in together already?"

"Lucius is moving in with me," Harry tells the witch with a giddy, warm feeling in his stomach. "After he redecorates and gets rid of my tasteless furniture and has a walk-in closet large enough to fit his extensive wardrobe and adds a hundred wards around the townhouse - but, yeah...we're going to live together and hopefully not end up sick from spending so much time with one another."

"Wow," Ginny snorts in amazement. "You haven't lived together with anyone, have you? I mean, we didn't share a living space and you haven't ever had a roommate or siblings who make everything crowded."

"We're treating it as a test-run."

"You know, I might even see the fireworks from my flat should you end up hating it."

"Bitch," Harry mutters.

"As if you didn't already know that." Ginny laughs and sips her butterbeer with a mischievous smile.

 


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's that... Feedback is appreciated *giggles*

**Epilogue**

The days following up to the last day of voting have been filled with interesting developments. Harry's has already given Astoria his vote.

Right now, Harry is giving a small team of Aurors some last minute instructions before they conduct a search in Davenport's house and office in the Ministry. It is an unassuming business at the moment.

As one team heads out to search the wizard's home, another marches up to the DMLE floor where the offices are located and Harry himself steps right into Davenport's office. The man is sitting behind his desk, adding the final touches to his victory speech, when Harry waves the warrant in Davenport's face, displaying the Minister's signature.

"How dare you invade my personal office?"

Harry smirks and hands Davenport another piece of parchment. "There is a team conducting a search of your house as we speak. Everything has been signed off by Kingsley Shacklebolt himself."

"What is the meaning of this, Potter?" the wizard barks, reading the parchment with a paling face.

"Well, you see, _Henry_ \-- may I call you Henry?" Harry attempts to keep a straight face. "Anyway, the meaning of this is pretty fucking clear, don't you think? It is against the law to lie about who you are, especially in such an official capacity. You are employed by the Ministry of Magic and therefore, you are committing a crime by claiming to be someone you are definitely not."

The pretending wizard shrinks back, face pasty and lips drawn into a thin line. "This is a mistake -- I have no idea what you are implying, Potter. Leave my office this instant before I sack you and your lackeys."

"I'm not implying anything," Harry says, watching as three Aurors rummage around in the wizard's office. "I'm taking your arse to Azkaban."

"What nonsense are you speaking? I'm about to collect my victory, the Minister's position belongs to me now. I'm going to give my speech." Davenport rattles on, referring to the announcement that will soon be made about the next Minister before a swarm of reporters and flashing cameras.

"Here's the thing," Harry smirks. "The only speech you are going to give will be the speech in which you explain why you pretended to be Walter Davenport for over a decade."

"Potter, this is clearly some sort of mistake. Are you so desperate to see me lose that you've fabricated some kind of false evidence? My god, has Astoria Malfoy really warped your mind so badly that you can't even see that this is obviously a strategy of hers to get me out of her way."

Harry has seen suspects trying to weasel their way out before and this wizard is no different. "Oh, I know all about you, Henry Unwin. About those special investigators keeping tabs on a number of wizards and witches, about your little fantasy world of happy Muggle-borns who get to trample all over hundreds of years of customs and magical traditions. The only part I haven't figured out yet is what you did with the real Walter Davenport, but I'm sure we'll figure it out eventually."

There is a distinct expression on the wizard's face -- a blend of shock and acceptance. He doesn't protest as the Aurors go through his desk drawers and cabinets by the wall. He just stares at Harry.

"Sir," one of the Aurors calls out and pulls out a stack of brown folders. "Take a look at these."

Harry's personal file is missing, seeing as the folder is now in Harry's house, but there are files and reports with personal information about the rest of the Aurors in the Auror corps. Records about their blood status and family trees. The ones with pure-blood lines have been marked differently, singled out from the others. There are little remarks scribbled on the edges with a different colour ink, comments on how to deal with the troublesome ones, where to send them, who to get rid of completely.

"I knew you were a deluded twat, but this is just too precious -- you're a real shithead, aren't you?" Harry comments and hands the folders to one of the Aurors to be secured as evidence. "I have to ask -- are you in any way related to Dolores Umbridge?"

A moment later, a wizard comes into the office, face flushed from running. He pants a few times and then says, "Boss, we found a wizard in the basement of Davenport's house. We had him taken to St. Mungo's because he looked seriously ill. He might be the bloke we're looking for -- the real Davenport."

Harry nods and motions one of the Aurors to restrain Mister Unwin. He then asks the detained wizard, "You've been keeping him down there for fifteen years?"

Wild-eyed and spitting, the man states, "You won't win this, Potter! I'm going to be the next Minister for Magic. You won't stop me; you can't stop me!"

"I think you might qualify for a spot in the mental ward."

"I should have known," Davenport curses as he gets shoved towards the door by to strapping Aurors. "Malfoy tricked me! You're in on this together, you and that _pure-blood_ whore _._ "

Harry doesn't let his temper get the best of him and gives a sharp nod. "Take him to the holding cell," he says and then adds with a smirk. "Then again, we shouldn't let all those reporters wait for nothing, right? You want your picture in the papers, don't you?"

Davenport, red-faced and struggling, screams. "When I'm Minister, you'll all pay for this. I'm going to finish you off, Potter. You'll beg for mercy."

"Maybe you can be Minister in Azkaban," Harry suggests. "I bet the residents will just love you."

Harry tells the Aurors to take the wizard away, but stops them as Shacklebolt's voice declares that the results will be announced in a moment's time. His voice magically carries around the Ministry so that the people working can also listen to the announcement.

" _It is my pleasure to announce_ ," Shacklebolt's rumbling voice echoes in the corridors, " _that the next Minister for Magic, elected with the majority of votes -_ _-_ _the majority being seventy-three per cent_ _\--_ _is Lady Astoria Malfoy_."

Harry does find it amusing to see Unwin trashing about in the Auror's strong hold, tramping his feet like an angry toddler. Harry yells after him, "I guess you won't need that speech after all."

 

Down in the Atrium, a horde of reporters have all lined up. An official has just given a speech about the voting process and explained how cheating is impossible because of a number of magical countermeasures that prevent any sort of foul play. There is a dais set up for the ministerial candidates, divided into two sides -- Astoria stands there alone. Her supporters and family members have seats behind the dais. Davenport's side is suspiciously empty despite having a group of vocal supporters during his campaign.

Shacklebolt shakes hands with the witch, kissing her cheek as he wishes her luck. Astoria's speech resonates around the Ministry as Harry makes his way down into the Atrium. He sees Astoria standing proudly before the gathered reporters and Ministry workers, charming and resolute in her words of reassurance and innovation. Draco seems completely bemused and at the same time enthralled by his wife. He is dangerously close to drooling.

Harry spots Lucius standing in the very back, shrouded by shadows. He gets around the flashing lights and reporters trying to catch Astoria's attention and goes over to Lucius.

"Finally, a Malfoy in the office," Harry remarks. "You must feel giddy inside."

Lucius smiles. "Malfoys have always been in the office, merely working behind the scenes. A soft whisper in the back of one's mind."

"Astoria will make a good Minister. She's smart and politically savvy enough to survive any sort of machinations this place has to offer. She's a pure-blood but her views are not unsympathetic and single-minded but rather a combination of conservative traditions and pioneering ideas about the future of the magical community."

Lucius looks at Harry with amusement.

"What? I pay attention when I have to." Harry gives a smirk and goes on, "Do you want to go shopping for furniture tomorrow? Something that meets your exquisite pure-blood standards."

"I've contacted an interior decorator by the name of Gabrielle Delacour," Lucius says. "I only had to slip your name into the conversation and she agreed almost right away. Another ardent fan?"

Harry hums. "I saved her during the Triwizard Tournament. During the second task, her sister was attacked by grindylows, so my hero complex kicked in and I brought her to the surface. She had a huge crush on me when she was younger."

"Perhaps another decorator then." Lucius gives a slight sneer.

Harry looks around and doesn't see anyone watching. He pushes Lucius against the wall and winds his arms around him. "Jealousy is unbecoming. She's just a young woman who used to admire me because I heroically rescued her."

Lucius experiences a sudden rush of embarrassment for his behaviour. He attempts to divert Harry by asking, "Astoria has made arrangements for us to celebrate her victory should it come to pass. I imagine she will want us over for a small gathering."

"Will your son try to kill me again?"

"Draco has a certain flair for the dramatics but he forgets quickly."

Harry snorts. "Well, I have certain reflexes that I can't control. I don't want to upset you or Astoria by using a hair removal spell on him should he piss me off with his childish insults."

"Astoria will keep him in line," Lucius assures Harry. "She has very particular methods for punishment."

"I bet she has a paddle somewhere in her boudoir." Harry grins at the affronted look on the blond's face and steals a quick taste of lips before he pulls away and says, "I have to deal with Unwin for a bit -- he's a bigger psycho than I thought. I'll tell you about it later when I get home. Wear something sexy, love."

The words seems so easy and readily fall over Harry's tongue. Those words are like seeds planted deep and now they flourish; they have developed roots -- resilient, abundant roots that firmly dig into the very bones of them both.

Harry easily sneaks away from the media circus surrounding the newly elected Minister who will soon take over. Lucius watches Harry slink away towards the lifts. Astoria will not be free for another hour or so and there really is no need for Lucius to face Draco on his own. He catches Astoria's eyes on him and she smiles for a moment; then she turns back to the reporter asking questions.

Lucius steps into the Floo, pleased with the results of the vote, and lets the green flames take him to Harry's townhouse.

Their home.

 

  


 


End file.
